


Targaryen Holiday

by lyn452



Series: The Princess and the Bastard [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-03-10 10:39:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 47,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13500178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyn452/pseuds/lyn452
Summary: Game of Thrones meets Roman Holiday - Princess Daenerys needs a break, one that Jon Snow is happy to give her





	1. Night of Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> I’m already delayed in getting out the next chapter out for my multi-chapter Game Of Thrones fanfic, so what do I do? Start another one of course. Brilliant! (sigh)
> 
> Anyway, I’m not sure how closely this will follow the plot of the movie. It’ll certainly diverge at points, it already has in chapter one you’ll notice, but I’m not sure how much. We’ll all find out together. (The rating will probably go up later though because everyone loves smut and I don't have to worry about the Hayes Code.)

****Princess Daenerys was so tired. Would it really be so bad if she sat down and greeted guests? Her feet ached. She guessed that the men that set these protocols hundreds of years ago didn’t understand that feet weren’t meant to stand in high heels for hours on end.

Then again, when had these traditions began? Was it back when it was in fashion for men to wear heeled shoes? Not that it mattered to her here and now. She let none of her thoughts show, greeting each guest with a smile and some small comment. While doing this, Daenerys subtly slipped her feet from her shoes to relax them and let them stretch out.

Tyrion’s eyes met hers, and she wondered if he knew what she was doing. He was a clever man. Clever enough to sometimes make her wonder if he was clairvoyant. Then again it probably didn’t take supernatural skills to guess that a woman who’d been standing for hours, making small talk with hundreds of people was tired.

She hoped she didn’t yawn. That would be a disaster. Her eyes darted over to the reporters just waiting to get a picture of her, get a story of scandal from her. A yawn even after hours of smiling would be seen as an insult. “Dragon Princess Bored by Braavos,” she could see the headline. She could hear the lecture from Tyrion, she would be told that as one of the few royals left in a world with no room for royalty, she couldn’t afford to make any mistakes if she wanted to keep her title.

Sometimes she wondered if all this was worth it. But she knew no other life. She’d never gone anywhere without a guard or someone like Tyrion to tell her how to act and who to greet. Her life was scheduled to the smallest detail, with no room for errors or spontaneity.

Another name was called out officially, and she greeted them in her flawless Valyrian. Missandei stood beside her to translate for any guests who might speak a language she didn’t herself.

Beneath her dress, Daenerys continued to stretch out her feet. This was her seventh city on the royal tour of Essos. When Tyrion had told her the schedule, she had worried it might be too much, but her father had insisted. The strain of it all was beginning to take its toll on her, but she refused to let it show, even for a minute.

Another name was called out, “Illyrio Mopatis.” Daenerys smiled at the bigger man, Varys had mentioned that he was a friend. She was never entirely sure she could trust Varys (or his friends), but she was still happy to see a somewhat friendly face.

When Daenerys attempted to put her shoe back on, it dropped and she dropped slightly with it. Missandei was at her side in an instant, helping her. Daenerys smiled, waving her off, as she carefully got her shoe back on. Or at least tried to. As she attempted to slip it back on without drawing any notice, she inadvertently pushed it further away.

Then it was time to sit. Of course, Daenerys thought. She made one more attempt, but it failed. With all eyes on her for still standing, she decided to sit down and hope her voluminous skirt hid the shoe.

It didn’t. There the shoe sat there at her feet for all to see. Daenerys tried to edge her foot out inconspicuously, but couldn’t quite manage it.

Luckily, the ever observant Tyrion noticed and asked her majesty for a dance. Gratefully, Daenerys accepted, putting the shoe back on before gliding out with her lord for a partner.

As the music started and Tyrion guided her, Daenerys asked, “How long must I stay out here for it not to be rude?”

“A few hours at least,” Tyrion replied.

Daenerys swallowed the initial panic at the thought. A few hours, and now that she had begun dancing, she would continue to dance for all of those hours with whatever lord or lord’s son asked. It was going to be hell. Tyrion must have picked up on her feelings because he said, “Chin up, your majesty. Only six more cities left after this one.”

Gods, she was barely halfway done with this trip. Daenerys gave a tiny, polite smile, but inwardly she wanted to cry and rage. Tyrion began to talk to her about the next cities, and what trade relations their visit was supposed to help with. Daenerys was always impressed by her companion’s intelligence. “Why is that you aren’t running the country, Lord Tyrion?”

Tyrion gave a sad smile, “That’s my father’s job.”

“For now,” Daenerys responded. “He’ll have to retire at some point.” Then Daenerys realized the answer to her own question. Her own father would not be king forever and the Hand was still a royally appointed position even if the rest of the Small Council was now elected. Tywin had placed his son with the king’s daughter so that both children would succeed their fathers. “I see,” Daenerys nodded. “We’re both in family jobs.”

Tyrion nodded. Daenerys asked, “Do you even want the job?”

Tyrion thought for a moment before responding, “Yes. I’m good at it. I like doing it.”

Daenerys smiled. He would be a good Hand. The song ended and Tyrion gave her a bow. Daenerys turned and found a new partner waiting for her. She put on a smile and danced gracefully with her new partner.

It was the first of many dances, most with uninteresting partners who either spoke of topics she knew nothing about or didn’t speak at all. Still she smiled politely and danced gracefully with each and every one of them.

Hours later, when it wasn’t rude to their host, Daenerys retired to her rooms. Missandei took out her braids and helped her undress. When she was in a silk robe that covered her completely, Tyrion entered to review their schedule for the next day. She wasn’t to have a free minute. Daenerys could already feel the exhaustion.

As he went over every detail and what speeches she would be reciting, Daenerys heard music drifting in from the street. Daenerys went to the window and saw a party outside of the Embassy’s gate walls. It looked like a rambunctious, fun affair. Fun. When was the last time Daenerys had fun? Had she ever had fun?

Tyrion snapped his book shut. “Your majesty, are you even listening to me?”

Daenerys turned to meet Tyrion’s mismatched eyes. “Of course,” she lied. Her hand went for her phone, checking for any new messages to her private phone number. There were none.

She wasn’t surprised by this. She rarely gave out her personal number, and as a princess, while she had more acquaintances than she could properly count, the number of real friends she had were basically the people in the room with her right now. People who’d been by her side all day and therefore didn’t need to text her.

She knew her public social media accounts would be filled with notifications, but those were fans and subjects (or critics and trolls), not friends. Usually looking at the comments just made her feel more alone, as all they talked about the same things: how beautiful she was, how much they envied her, and a bunch of other nonsense that had very little to do with the real her.

No one knew the real her. Because the real her was buried under so far under her Dragon Princess persona, she sometimes worried it no longer existed as anything but a distant memory.

Her fingers itched to browse the web, play a game or possibly even goof off on an app, but she could tell from Tyrion’s annoyed look continuing to ignore him would go badly for her. So she put the phone down to pay full attention to what he was telling her.

Her schedule would be completely full tomorrow. Again. The very thought of it made her want to retch. And cry. And despair. How long could she keep doing thing?

“Also, be sure to update your social media accounts with pictures of how happy you are and how you are enjoying your time in Braavos.”

Happy? That’s all that was expected of her: to put on a happy face. Nevermind that she was miserable with no friends or personal life to speak of. Nevermind that she was overwhelmed by the responsibilities that had been thrust onto her shoulders since her brothers’ deaths. Nevermind that this trip was killing her and it was all too much.

“Stop it,” she cried. “Just stop it. I can’t take it anymore. Everything we do is so wholesome. I’m a grown woman who still wears nightgowns to bed and drinks milk to calm me down. Some women wear nothing to bed and let a bottle of vodka put them to sleep.”

Tyrion looked at her, his eyes narrowed. “You are not some woman. You are the crown princess of Westeros. You have a lot of eyes always looking at you. You have to be better than them. If you acted like some women, it would cause a scandal.”

Daenerys knew Tyrion was right, but she didn’t want to hear it. Not right now. “Leave me.”

“Your grace,” Tyrion took a step towards her.

“Leave me,” Daenerys commanded, screeching it repeatedly, until collapsing on her bed, sobbing.

The emotional outburst was completely out of character for her, even behind closed doors.

“She needs to be calm for the press conference tomorrow,” Tyrion said to Missandei.

Another time she might have understood Tyrion’s concern, even been touched by it, but now she just wanted to be left alone.

Missandei nodded, “I’ll send for Aemon.”

Aemon Targaryen, Daenerys’ uncle who was now the royal physician. He’d always been her favorite family member. His age had slowed him down in the past few years. His grief at the death of two young princes under his watch weighed on him heavily. Daenerys always assured him that there had been nothing he could do. Rhaegar had died in a car crash shortly after his wedding and Viserys had come down with a fever that turned into something much worse so quickly that no doctor could help him.

Still, Daenerys knew her father had lashed out at his uncle, blaming him unjustly for the deaths. He’d tried to ban him from court in disgrace until Daenerys had convinced him to let her take him in as her personal physician. Aerys hadn’t liked the idea, but he’d conceded on the condition that he never need to see the man’s face again.

Daenerys knew it had taken a toll on poor Aemon, so she tried her best to be accommodating to him when he hobbled in, despite her distress. He examined her for a bit before preparing a sedative for her. “This should help you sleep, my child. It may take some time for it to take effect.”

Daenerys nodded, and the men left the room, including her guards who she knew would stand outside her door. For her protection but also to keep her prisoner.

Missandei lingered. “Is there anything I can get your majesty?”

Daenerys attempted a weak smile. Missandei was her best friend and the nicest person Daenerys had ever known. She’d seen the look of hurt on her friend’s face when she’d insulted the milk she brought her each night. As a peace offering, she asked for it now.

Missandei brought it to her with a kind smile. Daenerys drank it down like a good girl before handing back the empty glass. Missandei turned to walk away, but she paused at the door. “I know this tour, and these last few years, have been hard on you, your grace. But I want you to know that we all appreciate everything you do for us, everything you sacrifice to serve us.” Missandei flipped the light switch, leaving the room in darkness as she left.

Daenerys laid there, thinking over Missandei’s kind words. But the music drifting in from outside distracted her. She got up to lean out the window again. What she wouldn’t give to just have an hour of worry-free fun.

Why not? She thought. She was alone. She could sneak out and sneak back in before anyone noticed. It would probably rejuvenate her for the next day more than any amount of sleep. A few truly happy memories of her night of freedom to give Tyrion the genuine smiles he would want for the PR photos.

Daenerys picked up her phone to Google events taking place right now. There was a festival down the street, only 10 minutes away. The sedative made her pause as she walked to her closet, but the few times she’d had one before, it took at least an hour to kick in. It would give her a good set timeframe in which to be back by. Like Cinderella and her pumpkin.

The princess changed quickly, wrapping a scarf over her tell-tale hair. She thought about wearing sunglasses as well, but decided against it. While they would cover her distinct eyes, they would draw attention to her. She put her phone in her pocket automatically before she took it out again. Phones could be traced, and in the off chance Tyrion or Missandei came back in and found her missing in her brief disappearance, she didn’t want them to overreact and send out the guard to fetch her. She left it on her nightstand.

She knew she couldn’t just walk out the door, as Jorah was stationed outside her room, and wouldn’t permit her to leave. So she made her way to the window instead. She carefully climbed out to the small balcony out there. She made her way to the railing and leapt to the balcony that led into the next room.

She peaked in to check if the coast was clear before climbing in. The room was huge and full of mirrors, which made it look even emptier. She silently made her way across it to the side door, peeking out before she dashed off. She made it to the stairs without incident, but she saw a flashlight at the bottom, and ducked behind a pillar, waiting for it to pass.

When the room was dark again, she ran down the stairs and went in the direction of the kitchen. There was no way she would be able to get out the front way, but maybe there would be another way out through a servant’s door.

Surprisingly there was someone there. She hid behind a cabinet, watching what they were doing. Apparently this man loaded up the empty bottles of champagne and other trash from the parties in his truck to take them...somewhere.

A truck. It would be the perfect escape. She crawled across the floor, stopping when he returned to the room. She timed her exit perfectly, going out the door once he walked in and flung herself into the truck bed.

He didn’t notice her hiding behind the empty keg. After two more trips he finished, snapping the door closed. A few moments later the engine started and she could feel them moving. Daenerys held her breath as the came to the gate, worried their might be some sort of inspection, but the gate opened without a problem and barely a pause.

Daenerys smiled, pleased with her escape. One night of freedom, she thought again. Just one night.

She watched the landscape go by. The city had a different energy, a different beauty at night. Or perhaps she was just looking at it through new eyes.

The truck was going in the right direction, she remembered from Google maps. She would hop at at the first stop.

But her eyelids grew heavy. No, she thought. The sedative couldn’t be kicking in already. She had to have more time.

Against her will, Daenerys began to nod off. She didn’t notice when the truck made a turn that took her far from the festival she’d hoped to go to. She didn’t notice she’d been in the truck far longer than ten minutes.

It wasn’t until the truck stopped, she woke up. Upset at herself for falling asleep, Daenerys quickly got out. Walking, walking would wake her back up.

But it didn’t. Everything seemed to be on a tilt and she yawned. Still, she pressed forward. She was a Targaryen, Blood of Old Valyria and the Dragon. She could conquer this. This was her one night of freedom, she wasn’t about to let something like a sedative stop her.

But maybe just a small break, a brief nap, she thought as she laid down on a stone step.

 

* * *

 

The dice rolled over the dirty green felt and Jon cursed when he saw the numbers. He had no luck tonight. He drank down about half of his full mug of beer.

Jon was playing dice with men from the Night’s Watch, the Westeros paper sent to cover the royal visit, his old friends. He’d been with the Night’s Watch for years but quit a few months ago, wanting to go someplace warm.

He ended up moving to Braavos. He did freelance work now, which he didn’t love as he preferred a bit more stability, but it paid the bills. Most of the time. Currently he was working with a Braavos magazine who wanted an article about the Westerosi royal visit from the Westerosi point of view. He’d taken the job, but he had yet to do any work on it. He hadn’t even researched the princess yet. He figured he’d work all day tomorrow to get it done. He could crank something out quickly as long as he focused. And it wasn’t often he had anyone visit. He’d missed Sam, Grenn, Pyp and Edd. It was nice to spend time with them.

He was still surprised Men of the Night’s Watch were covering the royal tour. “Isn’t princess-watching a little fluffy for men of the Wall?” The Wall was at the northernmost tip of Westeros and in constant conflict. It was also home for the toughest jail in all of Westeros where the worst criminals resided. Being a journalist up there was often compared being a wartime correspondent, except you never got to go home at the end of your tour. It just kept going, like a lifetime vow.

“There’s a rotation for which paper covers royal events,” Sam explained. “It was our turn. I’m not going to complain about an all-expenses paid trip to Essos.”

“Besides,” Grenn said, “I think old Mormont wanted an excuse to visit with that kid of his. He’s got guard duty on the princess. Rumor is Jorah’s got a thing for the royal.”

“Mormont hates his kid,” Jon said. The old bear had complained to him often enough about the disappointment his son had been.

Pyp added, “And the rumor is everyone’s got a thing for the princess. She’s the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“What’s she even look like?” Jon asked. He was sure he must have seen a picture of her at some point in his life, but he didn’t remember it if he had.

“A Targaryen,” Edd deadpanned.

Pyp said, “Sam here knows.” He slapped the bigger man’s back. “You got to meet her at that la-de-da reception and ball tonight, right?”

Sam shrinked a bit under the sudden focus, but he answered, “Aye, she’s the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

Grenn asked with smirk as he brought his beer bottle to his lips, “You plan on telling Gilly that?”

“No,” Sam’s words were rushed. “I love Gilly with all my heart and she’s beautiful inside and out, I was just saying the princess was...I mean to say she was…”

Pyp finished Sam’s thought, “You mean to say she was hot. We got that Sam.”

“Well, we’ll all see for ourselves tomorrow,” Jon said, saving his friend from the teasing. Jon glared at Brenn in warning.

Sam talked about the ball, his attendance a privilege only bestowed on Westerosi nobility and the most influential of Braavos, “I didn’t get to dance with her or anything, but she was quite pretty.”

“Sure she was,” Grenn made an inappropriate gesture.

Sam blushed, but said to Jon, “You could have met her too, Jon. Gone to the royal ball since…”

“Yes, Lord Snow.” Grenn mocked, turning his attention to Jon, “Why didn’t you go to the ball? You could have met your prince charming and fell in love and lived happily ever after like some maid from a fairy tale.”

Jon shoved his old friend slightly before responding to Sam. “How? Doubt anyone from the royal party knows that I’m here, and I might not have gotten an invite any way.” Bastards, even noble ones, weren’t usually welcomed in good society. He stood up.

“Besides, like I said, I’ll see her at the press conference tomorrow afternoon. Speaking of which, it’s time for me to head home.”

A series of complaints and groans met his announcement as Jon finished his beer. He said, “Well, I’m out of beer and out of money, aside from cab fare. I’ll see you jackals in the morning.”

The men grumbled their good-byes, only Sam’s seemed genuine. Jon knew the men would play for hours more, and probably be hungover when he saw them tomorrow. He shook his head, remembering the long nights and even longer next days he’d shared with his friends in the years prior.

It was a nice night so Jon walked for a bit, still lost in good memories of times past. He noticed a woman sleeping on the steps of the Palace of Truth. Curious, he went in closer. He saw that under the silk scarf wrapped over her head, a few strands of platinum blonde hair peeked out. He usually thought such hair looked tacky, but it worked on her.

She was mumbling in her sleep, “So nice to see you. Thank you. No thank you.”

Jon wondered if she was crazy. But if she was, she was one of the nicest dressed vagabonds he’d ever seen. He looked around, wondering if maybe she was just drunk and had friends or a boyfriend combing the streets looking for her now.

He looked at her again for another moment; she was beautiful. Then he watched as she turned over. Jon realized she was about to roll off the step she was on and rushed forward to stop her. He wound up catching her in his arms. She rolled more into him, her hand coming up to clutch at his shirt while her head cuddled into his chest.

Jon’s physical reaction was immediate. He had to stop this. He gently set her back on the step, and just as gently shook her. “Hey,” he said. “Hey, wake up.”

When she opened her eyes, Jon was taken aback. Her eyes were violet. He’d heard of eyes that color but had never seen a pair before. Jon thought of pinching himself to make sure it wasn’t him sleeping on the side of the street, dreaming of coming across a beautiful woman in need. It would be better than his usual ones of dreaming he was a wolf running through the woods.

Jon focused again. “You shouldn’t stay out here, you’ll get picked up by the police.”

“Police,” she repeated as if not quite understanding the word. She looked at him, clearly still dazed. “Charmed,” she said holding out her hand.

Jon took it with a shake, “Yeah.”

“You may sit down,” she said as though giving him permission.

Jon looked to the stone she pointed at next to her. This was getting weird. “I think it might be better if you sat up.” He gently guided her up into a sitting position.

Her eyes were fully opened now, but still unfocused. She seemed to actually see him now. “If I were dead and buried and I heard your voice beneath the sod my heart of dust would still rejoice. Do you know that poem?” She asked.

Jon did, but it was odd that she should. “What is a well-read, well-dressed lady doing sleeping on the sidewalk?”

She sat up straighter in a way that would have been dignified if not for the swaying. “I’m not on the sidewalk.”

Jon saw a cab coming. He waved it down. “Can’t argue with that.” He stood up, helping the woman to her feet. “Come on, drunky. This is no place for a lady to spend the night.”

“I’m not drunk,” she corrected in an almost indignant manner. Her eyes focused on his for a fraction of a second and Jon could tell how fierce she must be when she had the mind to be.

She looked away. “Where should I spend the night then? With you?” she asked. Jon gulped, but she was ignoring him, looking out into the distance. “This is my one night of freedom.”

“Are you on death row?” he asked with a laugh.

“Worse than that,” she answered. “Family business.”

He laughed again, under his breath. He certainly understood the trickiness that could come from family crap. Jon took her chin gently to connect their eyes once more. Hers were wide and innocent now and he felt something in him tug. But he ignored it. It was all kinds of wrong to take advantage of a woman in this state. He opened the cab door. He tried to shove her in, but she grasped onto him, pulling him in with her.

He sat next to her, trying to situate her as best he could. “Where to?” the cabbie asked in Valyrian.

“Do you have any money?” Jon asked the woman.

“I never carry money.”

Of course, Jon thought, rolling his eyes.

“I can’t sleep, too much to do.” She slumped forward. Jon caught her and forced her to relax back on the cab seat. She continued to mumble, “I’m exhausted. It’s such hard work. No one knows that. No one sees it. No one would care.” She slumped again, this time landing against him.

Jon wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but her (now uncovered) platinum hair kept falling into his face. It smelled nice.

Why was that what he noticed? He told the driver to wait for a moment in his broken, badly accented Valyrian then turned to her, “Where do you need to go?”

“Hmm?” she asked him, eyes closed. She almost looked childlike, if it wasn’t annoying, it would be kind of adorable.

Jon swallowed the frustration. “Where are you staying?” He didn’t bother asking her where she lived. He could tell by her accent she was a foreign visitor.

She turned again, leaning towards the window and cuddling up to sleep,  ignoring his question.

“No, don’t fall asleep again,” Jon said, but it was too late.

Jon looked up to the heavens for a moment, trying to figure out what the right thing to do was. He closed the door and gave the driver his address. She could sleep on his couch until she was a bit more coherent. He looked down at her again, trying not to stare.

Strange, he thought, she almost looked like a Targaryen princess like that, sleeping in the moonlight, as if she’d just appeared from some fairy tale. Jon shook his head. He would be meeting the real Targaryen princess tomorrow. A meeting he needed real rest for tonight. He couldn’t get distracted. He would help this woman out for just tonight and then send her on her way.

When the cab stopped, he got out and paid. She barely opened her eyes once he got her awake but she got out of the cab and stood upright. Jon walked to his apartment and she followed behind him the way Ghost did. He took her hand as her head kept falling on his shoulder. “My night of freedom,” she kept mumbling.

When they got into his place, the lady looked around and asked, “Is this the elevator?”

Jon tried not to be offended, but he still said in a sharp tone, “This is my place.”

She nodded, her head turning to the bed. “Can I sleep here?”

“That was the idea,” though Jon was beginning to wonder if he would have been better off letting the police handle this. This woman wasn’t his problem.

She nodded. “I’m terribly sorry to inform you that I think the dizziness is getting worse.”

Jon nodded. “I’ll get you something to sleep in.” He went to his drawer to pull out one of his t-shirts and some athletic shorts.

The woman began to remove her gloves, “I would like a silk night dress that’s the color of the sky.”

Was she serious? “Fresh out,” Jon handed her his clothes.

She looked at them for a moment, then asked, “Will you help me undress please?”

Jon looked around, wondering if she was talking to someone else. Bad thoughts crossed his mind again, but he wouldn’t take advantage of her. “Okay,” Jon undid the top button of her blouse. It still felt like too much, so he stopped. “There you go. You can take care of the rest.”

A dainty hand touched the freshly revealed skin. Jon walked away. What had he gotten himself into? He poured himself a drink, turning his back to the woman undressing in his apartment.

He heard her ask, “Can I have some?”

She’d had enough for that night, Jon thought. “No,” he answered. When she turned again, he hid the bottle. No need to feed an alcoholic’s addiction, especially when she clearly couldn’t handle her liquor.

“I’ve never been alone with a man before, even with my dress on. It’s unusual.” Jon wondered about that. She looked young, but not that young. “With my dress off, it’s most unusual.”

Jon had to repress a laugh at that. Who was this woman?

She played with the buttons on her shirt. “I don’t seem to mind.” Her violet eyes connected with his. “Do you?”

“I think I’m going to go out for a cigarette.” Jon announced. He grabbed a pillow and a blanket for the couch. “You can sleep here.” He looked at her again. She was doing nothing now. Jon took a deep breath, getting ready to explain that she needed to change and go to sleep. Was this what being a father was like?

“Do you know my favorite poem?”

“You already recited that for me.”

“Arethusa arose from her couch of snows in the Acroceraunian Mountains.” She smiled at him, “Keats.”

“Shelley,” Jon corrected.

“Keats,” she insisted, reminding him a child once more.

Jon ignored her, telling her once more, “You just keep your mind off the poetry and on changing. Everything will be all right.” He assured her.

She still insisted, “Keats.”

“Shelly.” Jon said again. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”

She nodded, which Jon took as a good sign and he walked outside on the patio. Before he could close the door he heard her say, “You have my permission to withdraw.”

“Thank you very much,” Jon answered.

He looked out over the city. The light from the moon reflected off its many canals, giving it an otherworldly look. This patio was why he took this apartment despite it being tiny. The view was terrific for such a cheap place.

Jon didn’t smoke much, as he liked to be in shape and healthy and smoking helped with neither of those things, but it was a bad habit he’d picked up as a teenager that he still relied on in times of stress. He thought a strange, drunk young woman undressing in his apartment counted. Part of him worried that she might be a thief, this whole plot a clever ruse to steal from a kind stranger. It didn’t look like much, but he actually did have some valuables tucked away. But that didn’t explain the poetry. He supposed a thief could know poetry, but most of the criminals he knew were not the intellectual types.

When he finished his second cigarette, he estimated that gave her enough time to no longer be naked. Jon returned to find her curled up in his bed, her clothes on the floor. He looked over to the couch. Right. Guess he’d be taking the couch.

He took out his wallet and went to plug his phone into his charger. He then grabbed some sleeping clothes for himself. He began to undress where he stood, but another look at the woman in his bed gave him second thoughts, so he instead went into his bathroom for privacy.

When he came out, he threw his dirty clothes into a hamper. Jon looked at the tiny woman in his bed once more, swallowed by his sheets. She was the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. Part of him wished she was in his bed under very different circumstances, maybe with fewer clothes on.

Jon ignored those thoughts. He grabbed the pillow and blanket and made himself comfortable on his couch. Shouldn’t she have taken the couch? She was the guest not him. He guessed this was the gentlemanly thing to do. But still, it was pretty selfish of her to just assume that she would get the bed.

Jon fell asleep to the thought of violet eyes. He’d never seen eyes the color of hers before. A man could get lost in those depths.

 

* * *

 

Daenerys woke up to the feeling of sun across her face, her eyes fluttered open. She never felt the sun across her face when she woke up. Because she always had to be up before sunrise to get ready. Her hair, make-up and dress had to be perfect before she could go to breakfast with whoever she was scheduled to eat with for the morning meal.

But she felt it today. The implication made Daenerys spring up in a panic. Her eyes looked around, taking in her unfamiliar surrounding. Gods, what had happened? Where was she?

She was in an apartment, a small one. The bedroom looked into the kitchen and the living room. It was all one big room. Strange. She struggled to remember what had happened the night before.

“You’re up,” a deep, accented voice observed. Daenerys’ head spun to the find the source of the noise. It was a dark featured man, though he also possessed a soft look to offset his tough exterior. He was actually quite pretty, she decided. He’d been sitting down on the couch, but he stood now.

He didn’t look like a murderer or a rapist, but looks could be deceiving. Daenerys checked that she was clothed under the sheets. She was, but not in her own. She found the pile of her clothes folded neatly on the nightstand next to the bed. Only her shoes appeared to be missing. She spotted them a few feet away, tossed haphazardly on the floor in a way she never got away with in the embassy or palace. She climbed out of bed, but kept her distance from the stranger. She pulled herself up tall, putting on her best “I am a princess and you will not scare me” pose. She slowly made her way to her shoes, but she dreaded actually putting them back on. They’d look ridiculous with too casual clothes she was wearing anyway. So she just stared at the man whose place she guessed this was. “Who are you? How did I get here?”

He sighed, “You don’t remember. Of course not, you were pretty out of it.”

Daenerys wanted to accuse him of drugging her, but then she remembered the sedative. Her eyes still darted around to find potential weapons. How many times had Jorah and Barristan warned her about not trusting anyone, about avoiding being taken hostage. Even Tyrion had told her. “You didn’t answer my question. How did I end up here?” she asked.

“I couldn’t leave you out on the street. Not the way you were.” He took a step towards her, but Daenerys flinched back, so he stopped, holding up his hands to show he wasn’t trying to threaten her. Probably not a monster then, she thought. Or a very clever one, Tyrion’s voice said in her mind. “Look, I know you don’t know me, but I swear nothing happened. You slept on the bed, and I took the couch.”

Something in his words and his tone made her trust him, and Daenerys forced herself to relax, despite her judgment screaming at her to keep her guard up around this strange man. She picked up her shoes and her clothes, but still wasn’t ready to put them on. This loaned sleeping outfit was far more comfortable. “Okay then,” she said.

The man pointed to a pot on the stove, “I’m making coffee. Would you like a cup?”

Daenerys nodded. Up close, this stranger was even more handsome. She attempted to calm her nerves by studying her surroundings a little more closely. As she took in the details, she saw nothing to indicate anyone else stayed here. He must live alone.

The coffee finished brewing and her host poured her a cup as promised. When she took it from her, their fingers touched and she felt a jolt of something at the feeling. She let her hair fall forward to cover her blush. It was just a simple attraction, she knew, but she usually didn’t allow herself to even notice such things.

But it felt like she had left her true life behind in this small apartment, like she was entirely different person.

“What’s your name?” The man was leaning the countertop, his own cup of coffee in his hands. Daenerys could see the steam floating off of it.

“Dany Stormborn,” Daenerys answered before she could think too much about it. She held her breath for a moment to see if he recognized it. A crease appeared between his eyebrows, as if he was struggling to remember where he’d heard it before.

But then it cleared up as he nodded, drinking from his mug.

Daenerys was happy that he didn’t question it. It was technically her name, but few knew her by it and even fewer actually called her by it. She took a sip of coffee. It wasn’t great. It wasn’t the quality she was used to, but it was good enough.

She asked, “Your accent, you’re not from around here are you?”

“No, I’m from the North. Over in Westeros.”

Like Jorah. She remembered Viserys claiming they were all barbarians up there, but most of what her brother said was utter nonsense, so Daenerys didn’t believe it. While the North was still officially one of her Seven Kingdoms and still recognized the Targaryens as their heads of state and sovereigns, its government had split from the rest of Westeros like Dorne had years prior. They now elected their own leaders.

“You’re not from around here either,” Daenerys spun around, wondering how he guessed that. He gave her a small smile at reaction. “You’ve got an accent too,” he explained.

That smile, it warmed her for some reason. Daenerys ignored the feeling, letting the coffee warm her instead. Her eyes looked around the small apartment again. Was this how normal people lived? Her interactions with commoners were limited to state affairs, dinners with common people who never acted naturally or royal visits where she gave a speech and shook hands with a line of people. Neither gave her a ton of insight into how her people actually lived.

A picture hanging on the wall caught her eye. A blue rose growing out of an ice wall, it was stunning. “This picture is beautiful,” she said.

“It’s one of mine. I took it, I mean.”

Was he nervous? She turned to look at her host. “Did you?”

“Yes, I’m a photographer,” his head was down, his long hair covering his face, as though he was embarrassed. It was adorable. Daenerys smiled.

Maybe she should hire him, he was far easier to look at than the current court photographer. She studied the other photos hanging about. Most were of people she assumed were family. Some of the faces seemed familiar to her, but she assumed it was just the classic northern features triggering false memories. She wondered if any of the women pictured were his girlfriend. His left hand was missing a ring, so there was no wife.

Daenerys scolded herself for the thought. It was pointless to think such things. She was a guest here, in more ways than one, and would have to return to her world soon enough.

Still, it was nice to act like the young woman she was, wondering if the pretty man she was with had a girlfriend. Would he be interested in a princess?

She nearly laughed at the ridiculous thought. She noticed said man staring at her, oddly, but as soon as she looked in his direction he averted his gaze. He coughed a bit. “I need to head to work soon.”

“Oh,” Daenerys felt the relaxation she’d been enjoying drift away. Of course. She wasn’t a silly girl who could fantasize about pretty northerners. “I’ll get out of your hair then.” She looked around to make sure she didn’t leave anything here. It wouldn’t do for any reporters to find out that she’d spent the night at some strange man’s house. Even if it had been innocent, it would never be seen as such.

“No,” he rushed to say. Then he explained, “You were exhausted last night, kept talking about your night of freedom, so take a moment. Enjoy yourself.” He looked around to his small apartment. “It might not be much, but it offers you an escape. If just for a moment.”

Daenerys looked around. He was right. Gods, how nice would it be just to sit and enjoy a cup of coffee. When was the last time she was allowed such a small pleasure? She looked to him again, “You really wouldn’t mind?”

He smiled again, a full one this time. It nearly disarmed Daenerys. He looked so different without his usual stoicism. Better, she thought. “Not at all.” He grabbed his coat, shrugging it on and grabbing his keys. “I’ll be back shortly, but don’t be afraid to leave before then if you must.”

“Thank you,” Daenerys held out her hand, first down-facing like a princess, before catching herself and turning it for a handshake. He took it firmly. It was strange to shake a man’s hand. She was so used to kisses. His eyes were so pretty. “I didn’t catch your name,” she said.

“Jon. Jon Snow.”

“Thank you, Jon.” It was a simple name, but it felt good to say. Different than the usual posh and royal names she knew. But she liked it.

She liked him.

 

* * *

 

As soon as he shut the door, Jon wanted to open it again and declare he would spend the day with her. They would take a break together. But he removed his hand from the doorknob. He had a job. He needed the money. He really did need to check in with work.

He walked across the courtyard, heading in the direction of the magazine’s office.   


The House of Black and White, always seemed a little on the nose for Jon, but he tried not to judge since he was just a visitor here. The people were strange too, rather than call themselves reporters or photographers, they just referred to themselves as a man or a woman. It was odd, even for Braavos, but he kept his thoughts to himself, as he needed the money.

Most of his freelance work came from the House of Black and White, as his sister Arya had friends who worked here from her time studying abroad. She’d spent her previous summer here, getting into trouble, Jon was sure, but she’d made friends and shared names with him. She’d also made him consult with her on every decision he’d made when he moved here. “No don’t stay in that neighborhood. They jack the prices up on foreigners.”

How she knew so much about the city from one summer was a question Jon was pretty sure he didn’t want answered.

“A man is late.”

Jon turned, he couldn’t stand the Waif (who gives themselves a name like that?) and from his talks with Arya, she couldn’t stand the woman either. Still, he put on a fake smile. “I’m freelance. I don’t keep office hours.”

She continued to glare at him. Jon ignored it. He nodded to the closed office door. “Is Jaqen in yet?”

“A man is ready to see you,” she answered, turning on her heel.

Jon entered the office. A man was looking out his window, his posture rigid. Jon closed the door softly behind him.

Jaqen H’ghar was a strange man, but Jon liked him well enough. Mostly he liked the fact that Arya adored him. His sister was usually a good judge a character and he had no reason to doubt her judgement in this case. Jaqen didn’t turn, but he asked, “Why are you here, Snow?”

It was creepy, how he could tell who entered a room without even looking. Jon also didn’t like how a man asked questions that were vague and could be taken more than one way. Maybe he didn’t really like the guy. “The story about the princess. I’m just here to pick up my press badge for this afternoon and check if there were any specific questions you wanted asked.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Jon’s heart stopped. Was he being fired? But Jaqen waved his hand in the direction of his computer, finally turning around. “The princess has fallen ill. All events for today have been cancelled.”

Jon was surprised. The princess hadn’t cancelled so much as a meeting during this tour as far as he was aware. Strange that she would take a full day off now. But Jon wouldn’t question it too much. “Reschedule?”

Jaqen sat behind his desk. “I’m not sure, but if I hear anything, I will text you the details.”

Jon nodded and then turned to leave before Jaqen stopped him. “Snow, a man cannot live on work alone. A man needs time to rest and reset. A man should enjoy his free day.”

Jon smiled, the words reminding him of what Dany had kept muttering the night before about her night of freedom, which he’d turned into a day a freedom. He said nothing, but he made his exit.

Walking down the street, Jon thought about how to spend his unexpected day off. He thought he should really call his Night’s Watch buddies to see how just how hungover they were since they would have a free day as well. Nothing to follow without a royal touring.

Assuming Dany wouldn’t be up for something. Yes, he thought. Much as he missed his friends, he might prefer her company over theirs, if she was up for it. He might regret not spending time with his friends, ditching them for a pretty girl, but he didn’t care at the moment.

He reached into his pocket to check the time. Would she have left already? Jon saw that he had an unread text message.from Sam. Feeling guilty at the thought of blowing them off, Jon opened it:

_Did you get the day off too? Was thinking about taking a tour around city, once the rest of them get up. Join?_

Jon knew he should say yes. He could bring Dany along, but he chose not to respond at all. He would text Sam later, he thought. When he knew if he even had a shot with Dany.

He probably didn’t, but he had nothing to lose by trying. He stopped at a local vendor to pick up some cigarettes. He was out because of his delaying last night. He tried not to think about how he was delaying now.

She’s just the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen, Jon thought. No reason to be nervous.

Right.

His eyes drifted over the magazine and newspapers as he waited for the man to ring up his purchase. The headlines were all about the royal visit.

Then his eyes caught something and they stopped drifting. He stared at the picture, leaning in. Was that? No. He picked up the newspaper as the man asked him in broken common tongue if he wanted to buy the paper as well.

Jon barely heard the man. He was staring at the picture and the words in the caption. It was a picture of Dany, he was almost sure of it. The caption named her as Daenerys Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne.

Holy shit. Dany didn’t just look like a Targaryen princess, she was a Targaryen princess. The princess. He never felt more stupid. The Targaryens all had white-silver hair and violet eyes. Everyone knew that. How did he not make the connection?

He didn’t just have a pretty lady at home; he had the story of a lifetime. A real look into the life of a notoriously sheltered princess. This was the kind of story that could make a man’s career. No more worries if he would be able to hustle up enough stories and photos to make rent.

That was if she hadn’t left yet.

Jon slammed down what he hoped was enough money for the paper and the cigarettes.

He ran home.

 

* * *

 

It had been early when Tyrion had been woken up. Early enough that there was no sun in the sky and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light.

Misssandei stood there, looking equal parts upset, worried and nervous. “Lord Tyrion,” she said.

His voice still heavy with sleep, Tyrion rose and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “What is it?” he asked, wondering if the woman’s worries would be worth the trouble of hopping down and dressing early for the day. He glanced at the clock. He’d only gotten three hours of sleep.

They usually were. Missandei was smart, one of the smartest people he knew. If she was worried, she probably had good reason to be. “I can’t find the princess.”

For a second, Tyrion convinced himself that he’d heard that wrong, but then the words settled in his mind like a stone. He hopped down from the bed, grabbing a robe. He ordered the grounds searched.

Later, when they’d come up empty, Tyrion questioned the guards, looking specifically at Jorah and Selmy. “How? How did this happen?”

Both men looked ashamed. Ser Selmy answered, “The window was open when Missandei first told us. We think she must have snuck out that way.”

It still answered very little. All of their security, all of their precautions and they couldn’t keep a 23 year old woman in her room.

Then again, all that security was meant to keep others out, not the royal princess in. What could she have been thinking? Didn’t she know how dangerous it was to wander the streets alone in Braavos? Especially for her? Tyrion had once told her of the awful time he’d been taken hostage for his father’s gold. He’d hoped his horrifying experience would have taught her something.

But apparently not. “Where could she be?”

“I checked her phone,” Missandei said. “I was trying to call her, but it was still in the room. She had last googled a nearby festival. I sent Grey Worm to find her discreetly, but he didn’t find her. And those he questioned hadn’t seen her at all.”

How in the hell could they lose her? It wasn’t like Daenerys Targaryen could get lost in a crowd. She was made to stand out. Jorah interrupted Tyrion’s thoughts, “Should we alert the police and the crown?”

“No,” Tyrion said. King Aerys could be unpredictable at the best of times, so Tyrion knew that his reaction to his missing daughter and direct heir wouldn’t be good. He could fix this, before anyone even knew there was a problem. “No, we can fix this ourselves. She couldn’t have gotten far. We’ll cancel her meetings for tomorrow. Today. We’ll tell everyone she’s sick. And then we’ll find her, and we’ll pretend nothing happened.”

He could tell the rest of them seemed skeptical.

Everyone underestimated a dwarf.


	2. No One Will Recognize You

Dany enjoyed her coffee. She was on cup number two and wondered if a third would over caffeinate her. This was bliss. She thought about going back to bed. She wished for her phone so she could at least text Missandei so no one would worry.

But they probably had ways to track her phone if she’d had it on her. And she wanted just one morning of freedom. A whole day would be nice, but at least a few hours would work, she thought. An actual holiday. A real break.

Sirens went off, Daenerys wondered what kind of neighborhood this place was in.Was the sound of sirens normal?

She wished she knew. She thought of Jon. Jon, who didn’t seem to know who she was. Jon who had treated her kindly, but not in the bowing, sycophant way she was used to. He’d disagreed with her, she remembered that much from the night before. No one ever did. Certainly not strange men meeting her for the first time. Not to a crown princess.

It was wonderful.

She propped her bare feet up on his small kitchen table since there was no one around to scold her for it. She smiled at the small act of rebellion, the small enjoyment of breaking the formality that swallowed her life. She closed her eyes and leaned back. When did she ever get to relax like this? Had she ever relaxed like this?

Daenerys startled when she felt something brush past beneath her. The chair crashed to the floor and her feet were off the table and back on the floor. She looked around in alarm, looking for the source of the disturbance.

She found it in the corner, eating from a bowl. It was a huge, white dog. It was quite beautiful, but how had she not noticed it before? Jon hadn’t mentioned a pet. The dog turned, staring at her with red eyes.

He (or she?) reminded her of her cat, Drogon. He wasn’t an albino, but his eyes were red too due to some weird genetic defect. When she picked him out, along with her other two kittens, her father had urged her to get a normal one instead, but she had insisted. She missed her babies now.

Daenerys put down her mug and approached the dog carefully, holding out her hand for him to sniff her. “Hello there,” she said. “What’s your name?”

She glanced at the bowl, hoping it would be labeled, but it was just a standard silver bowl. A wet nose poked her hand, as the dog sniffed her. He stepped in closer, and she pet him.

He was so fluffy. Her hands noticed a collar and searched for a tag. According to it, the dog’s name was Ghost. After a few minutes, Daenerys stood up again, going back to her coffee. Ghost followed her, plopping down at her feet, she continued to pet him absently with her free hand.

She knew that she should get dressed and back to the embassy soon. But she sipped on her coffee slowly, deciding she would leave as soon as it was gone.

Or maybe after she finished a third cup.

Jon opened the door, out of breath. Daenerys’ eyebrow raised at him. Had he run home? Why? “Maybe you should cut back on the smoking.”

She’d seen the ashtray earlier, when she’d “explored” the apartment. Not looked through everything because she was being nosy. Jon’s head darted around the apartment before settling back on her. “I don’t smoke that much.”

“Your dog-like panting says otherwise.”

Defiantly, Jon took out his fresh pack to open it and place a cigarette in his mouth. He walked over to where he kept his lighters.

“You’re back early,” Daenerys observed. She tugged at her borrowed clothes uncomfortably. She supposed she should have changed back into her own clothing. But she never got to lounge around in sweats. It was a treat. One she wasn’t ready to give up.

Jon seemed a bit uncomfortable by her observation, his cigarette still unlit. “Yeah.” He seemed to have lost interest in his search for a lighter. He was just digging around his junk drawer now. “Turns out I got a day off.”

A day off, Daenerys thought, wouldn’t that be nice? It never happened for her. Though she supposed, she wasn’t at the embassy now. Tyrion must have come up with some kind of cover story. Maybe she could turn her night of freedom into a full day.

Even the most dedicated workers got a day off here and there. After her brothers’ deaths, it was constantly all up to her. She, and she alone, was the royal face since her father was getting too old to travel. Every trip, every speech, everything was her responsibility. It was too much.

“Yeah, so it appears I have a day off. What are your plans?”

It was asked casually. Too casually, she thought. She hid her grin behind her coffee mug. Was this was it was like for a regular woman? To get asked out by a cute guy?

She was so tempted. After all, she must have had the day off too. But her duty and responsibilities called and she knew she should get back.

Before she could respectfully turn him down, Jon noticed her petting his dog. “Sorry I didn’t warn you about Ghost. He seems to like you though.”

“Ghost probably wouldn’t like me if I were at home. He’d probably smell my cats.”

“Oh, so you’re a cat person?” Jon’s arms unfolded.

“Don’t say it like that. I like dogs too. But I travel a lot, a dog wouldn’t be practical, it would just be more work for other people.”

“But you were given a choice between a dog and a cat and you picked cat.”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“No,” Jon stood up, walking around Daenerys as if studying her. “It’s just having a dog is like having a friend. A cat is like a roommate. I think it’s interesting you’d prefer a roommate to a friend.”

Daenerys studied him back. He walked with a casual grace, like a predator. And his posture was better than most men’s, almost like a noble’s. “Cats are calmer. I like their energy better. Dogs can be a bit much. You seem like the sort that would appreciate that.”

Jon conceded,  ceasing his circling, “That’s fair. My brother has this yellow lab that’s just an overgrown puppy. Always moving, always happy, loves everyone and everything. He’s exhausting.”

“The brother or the dog?” Dany asked with a laugh.

Jon chuckled. “I was talking about the dog, but the brother too at times. He keeps trying to get me to run marathons with him.”

“You wouldn’t last a mile.” Daenerys joked as Jon glared. She’d been in enough conversations with marathon runners to know the appropriate next question to ask. “What’s his best time?”

“I do not recall, but he’s definitely told me at least 20 times.”

Dany laughed again. “What a terrible brother you are.”

“I listen when he talks about what the Direwolves have to do to get out of this slump. I even contribute to that conversation.”

“So what do the Direwolves have to do to break their losing streak?”

“Do you actually care?”

“Nope,” Daenerys smirked. “I’m a Dragons fan.”

“A cat person and a Dragons fan,” Jon’s eyes narrowed. “And I let you stay here last night.”

Daenerys laughed, louder than she’d permitted herself to in a long time. As a princess, her laughs were supposed to be dainty titters. “Could be worse, I could have been a Lions fan.” Tyrion was a Lions fan. He always talked about how they had the best overall win record in the league. But Daenerys argued the Dragons had the most championships. She knew Direwolf fans liked to play up their underdog status and how their wins actually meant something since their team didn’t just outspend everyone else. There was a long-standing rivalry between the Direwolves and the Lions.

“If you’d been a Lions fan, I’d be kicking you out right now.”

Daenerys' amusement petered out. “I should be going.”

Jon seemed to hesitate, as if not wanting to let her go just yet. “You could use my shower first. I know it can feel gross just getting back into already worn clothes after sleeping.”

“Thank you,” she said. She finished the rest of her coffee and stood up. Jon pointed to the small room in the back. Daenerys picked up her clothes and entered the small bathroom.

 

* * *

 

As soon as he heard the shower start, Jon went out to the patio, closing the doors behind him. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through recent calls to find Sam’s number. He thought about lighting his cigarette now.

Maybe he did smoke too much. Then again, he’d been more stressed than usual lately.

Sam answered on the second ring. “Jon, what’s up? You in for a tour today?”

“Maybe, Sam is Halfhand still in charge of buying outside stories?”

“Jon,” Sam sighed. “You work too much. You have a day off. Take it. Come on the tour with us. You know Grenn will turn it into a bar crawl within an hour. It’ll be fun.”

“I’m freelance now. I have to work all the time.” Jon had meant to take a break. That was the whole point of moving to Braavos, to take a break and get away from it all. But then harsh reality set in and Jon worked more than ever now.

“Jon, you’re a Stark. It’s not like you’re hurting for money. Didn’t you tell me about a trust?”

“One I can’t access for seven months and the terms dictate that I still need to have a full-time job.” Jon’s father Ned had put that stipulation on all his children’s trusts to make sure his kids had a good work ethic. Since he’d be the first to hit 25, Robb kept telling Jon that he had to throw a huge blowout party when it happened, but Jon was thinking more about down payments for a house. Robb could have the party. It sounded like a Theon idea anyway. That jackass could plan it.

“Couldn’t you just ask your dad for a loan then?”

No. Then Jon would look like a failure. He was already the stain on Ned Stark’s honor, the family outcast, he didn’t need to be the family failure as well. “It’s not as bad as all that. Just tell me, is Halfhand the buyer or not?”

“Yeah, he’s still doing that. I think he’s talking with Mormont now. Do you want me to patch you through?”

“Please,” Jon said. He glanced back through the glass patio windows. No sign of Dany, Daenerys.

Jeor Mormont’s voice was as gruff as ever, “What is it you want, Snow?”

Jon realized that he’d been in Braavos longer than it felt. He no longer expected the northern way of cutting straight to the point. “Do you still take outside stories?” Jon looked through the glass again. He should have brought his lighter out with him. Though he had one hidden in a potted plant out here if he got desperate.

“Yeah,” an even gruffer voice answered, Qhorin Halfhand. “Why you asking? You quit.”

“I’ve got a story. How much would a real interview with Princess Daenerys be worth?”

For a full minute the line went silent. Finally Halfhand answered with a snort. “What do you care? You’ve got about as much chance of meeting her as I do of getting my full hand back.”

Jon nodded, despite the fact it couldn’t be seen, “Right, but if I did?”

“Are you saying that you know the princess, Jon?” Jon was surprised to hear Sam's voice.

“Get off the line, Tarly!” Jeor yelled. “Or just come into the damn office.” The sound of a door closing told Jon which option Sam had taken.

“How much?” Jon asked again.

“Depends on the story,” Qhorin said. “Just a plain talk on world conditions might be worth a few hundred. Her views on fashion and clothes would be worth more.” Jon could see the old man rolling his eyes. He’d heard many a rant about the state of journalism where celebrity culture was more important than real news. “Her views on men and other famous people would be worth the most. A few grand at least, depending on what she said and how honest she was being.”

Jon absorbed the words. He looked back once more, his conscience nagging at him. “I mean her honest views on everything. The private and secret longings of a princess. Her innermost thoughts as revealed to a former Night’s Watch man in a private, intimate, exclusive interview.”

The line went dead again. Jon knew he didn’t have a lot of time, so he goaded them. “Can’t use it, huh? I didn’t think so."

“Don’t hang up, Snow,” Jeor said. Jon could hear mumbling on the line.

“With pictures?” Qhorin asked.

Jon hadn’t thought about that, but why not? “Could be. How much?”

“That particular story would be worth about a year’s salary to anyone, Snow,” Jeor answered.

Jon swallowed at the number, looking once again to the closed bathroom door. Enough money to not work for a year. He could travel the world like he’d always wanted, taking pictures. He could write a book. He could do whatever he wanted.

That kind of freedom was exactly what Jon dreamed of. A year of doing whatever he wanted for one story with pictures. And it wasn’t a betrayal, she was a public figure. It wasn’t like he was going to ask her about her deepest, darkest secrets, and she wouldn’t tell him about them anyway. It would be a conversation, a glimpse at the real woman. It would be a fair portrayal.

Jon told himself all sorts of lies to ease his conscience.

All he had to do was pull off a little deception.

“Jon, are you sure you can do this?” Sam asked, worried, as though he could read Jon’s thoughts.

Jon took a deep breath. “I’m not going to lie to her or take advantage, Sam. I’m just going to spend some time with her and write about what she says. I’m not planning to rip her apart.”

“Be worth more if you did,” Qhorin said. Jon knew it was true, but the thought of doing that to her didn’t sit right with him. “Royalty is never off limits, boy. Do what you need to do to get the story.”

“How exactly are you planning on getting this story, Jon?” Jeor asked. “She’s on her sick bed today and she leaves tomorrow.”

Jon said, “I’m planning to sneak in as a thermometer.”

He heard snorts in response. “You manage that one, kid, and I’ll pay you five hundred from my own pocket,” Qhorin said.

“Oh, Halfhand, I can’t take your retirement money.”

 

* * *

 

Daenerys stepped out of the bathroom silently, her hair wrapped again. She looked around the apartment, trying to find any hints of her presence here.

A knock on the door drew her attention. She saw no sight of Jon, and she didn’t want anyone to see her here, so she did nothing to answer the door, not wanting anyone to know she’d been here.

But then there was a jingle of keys and the doorknob turned open. “Jon?” a woman’s voice called out.

A stunning woman stepped in. Daenerys recognized her as one of the red priestesses. She rose to her full height. She’d met one of these women back in Meereen, and while the woman was nothing but polite and kind to her, she also had been unnerving. “Can I help you?” Daenerys asked.

Her eyes darted around the empty apartment again, wondering where Jon had wandered off to. The Red Woman looked Daenerys up and down. Her look was one of barely concealed contempt. It was a rare one for Daenerys to receive, and usually only came from people who were dead set against royalty of any kind. The other woman asked, “Who are you?”

“A friend of Jon’s,” Daenerys answered, not wanting to give this woman her name. “And you are?”

“I’m Melisandre, his good friend,” she emphasized the word good.

Daenerys held out her hand, again catching herself so that her hand was sideways rather than palm down. Melisandre’s nails bit into Daenerys’ skin as clasped her hand a little too firmly. Daenerys’ royal upbringing kicked in at the unsaid challenge. “What are you doing here, Melisandre?”

“I wanted to speak with Jon.” Her eyes swept over Daenerys, narrowing on her face. “I didn’t realize he had company.”

Daenerys momentarily panicked that this woman might have recognized her. But she realized that if Melisandre had, she probably would have left to call some paper for the money. Daenerys was just some woman to this lady. It was strange to be seen as that. Daenerys was never just some woman. It might have pleased her if not for the blanent implication that Daenerys’ presence wasn’t innocent. In her most haughty voice, Daenerys asked, “Does Jon invite you in here often or do you always find it necessary to invade his privacy?”

“I’m his landlord. I can enter any apartment, if I choose.”

“Why are you here? Did you have a message you would like me to pass along?”

“No,” Melisandre turned to leave. She looked Daenerys up and down once more. “You aren’t really his type.”

“What do you mean?”

“He likes redheads,” and in case Daenerys missed the meaning, the woman toyed with her very red locks. “Bold, grown women who aren’t so innocent.”

Daenerys looked away as Melisandre made her exit.

 

* * *

 

Jon entered again, once he finished his phone call and his cigarette. He looked at the still closed door to the bathroom. Daenerys must take long showers, he thought. Then he realized he didn’t hear the shower, didn’t hear anything from behind the door.

Pushing down his initial panic, Jon walked over to the bathroom door and knocked lightly. “Everything okay in there, Dany?”

He got no response.

“Dany?”

The panic was coming back. Did she just leave? Did he let the story of a lifetime just walk out his door without a fight? All because he took a few extra minutes to smoke a cigarette.

He was quitting today if that was the case.

Then he noticed the front door wasn’t quite latched shut. He knew he’d locked it when he’d got home, afraid someone (like his nosy landlady) would discover the princess in his room. Jon took three strides to cross the room and swing the door open.

At first, he didn’t see her. But then he caught sight of a small form sitting beneath the lemon tree in the center of the courtyard. Slowly, Jon climbed down the iron wrought spiraling staircase to make his way over to her. She looked up when she saw him, smiling.

Would she smile so brightly at him if she knew what he was planning to do with such naked trust? Jon pushed down the guilt. He asked, “What are you doing out here?”

“It’s lovely out here. Quaint. Like a real home, with the smell of fresh lemons in the air and the red doors of each little home. I wonder what their lives are like. Your neighbors, I mean. What are their worries? There dreams. Do you know?”

Her violet eyes made Jon’s breath catch. His gaze darted away, at the doors of his neighbors. He realized that they couldn’t stay out here, too many eyes. Princess Daenerys was too recognizable to sit in public for too long without someone figuring out who she was. He answered, “Not really. My Valyrian is terrible.”

She smiled slightly at that. “I can imagine your atrocious accent.” She stood. “I must go. I only stayed to say good-bye.”

Jon knew he couldn’t just let her leave. “You must be getting hungry. Are you sure I can’t buy you breakfast?” He noticed the position of the sun. “Or lunch? Brunch?”

Daenerys shook her head, “I really must be going.” She looked in the direction of the entryway to the street.

Jon stepped forward. “Let me walk you out.”

She declined that as well. Jon tried to think of a way to get her to stay, but short of kidnapping, he would just have to let her and this story go. “Thanks for letting me sleep with you.” Daenerys blushed. “I mean stay at your place. It was very considerate of you.”

Jon smiled a bit. “It wasn’t a problem. Are you sure you don’t need someone to escort you?”

“I think I’ll be fine.” She answered.

Jon let her go, walking back to his apartment, his forehead resting against the closed door. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe he wasn’t meant to get this story. She might never trust again if he deceived her. Still, he wondered if there was some other way to keep her here. Despite what Qhorin had said, Jon didn’t want to lie to the poor girl.

A knock scared him and he jumped back. He then opened the door and was surprised to find Daenerys there. She said, “I forgot. Can you lend me some money?”

“That’s right,” Jon remembered. “I never carry money.”

Daenerys smiled. “Right.”

“How much do you need?” Jon asked, pulling out his wallet.

She bit her lip, which  made Jon’s heart warm in an uncomfortable way. “I’m not sure. How much do you have?”

Jon closed his wallet. “That’s not a very appropriate question.” he nearly called her princess, but caught himself just in time.

She laughed, “I suppose not. How much is a cab?”

“You don’t know.”

“I grew up in a very sheltered environment.”

“I figured that with the never been alone with a man last night.”

She blushed again. Jon wondered if she was remembering the second part of what she’d said. That she hadn’t minded being alone with him.

He hadn’t minded either.

He pulled out a few bills for her.

“I’ll arrange for it to be sent back to you.” she looked around. “What is your address?”

He recited it for her. She repeated it back. She walked away again. “Good-bye. Thank you.”

Jon shut the door again and there was another knock. Jon smiled. Daenerys again. He opened the door, a flirtatious remark about her seeming to want to spend the day with him after all, until he saw it wasn’t the princess.

It was Melisandre. Jon’s smile disappeared. “I’m up-to-date on rent, so what do you need, Melisandre?”

Her shoulders went back just a bit, pushing her chest out a little further. “I need a strong guy to help fix something in 6B and I thought you might be able to help me out.”

She had been doing this a lot lately. She kept dropping by to ask for little favors. She was even starting to use her key to let herself in. Jon hated it. He knew she had a thing for him when he first rented the place, had even flirted a bit to get the rent lowered. But this was going too far. “Then hire a handyman.”

Melisandre’s hand gripped his bicep. “What do I need one for when I have a strong man like you around?”

Jon removed her hand. “I am your tenant. I pay you rent, you let me live here. That is the full extent of our relationship.”

Melisandre’s eyes narrowed. “Does this have anything to do with that girl coming out of your apartment? You know I don’t approve of fornicating.”

Her and her damn lord of light. She kept preaching to him about the Lord of Light and the evils of temptation, unless the temptation was with her. “It’s none of your business, but that’s not what happened. You are my landlady. That’s it.”

She frowned, but Jon didn’t care. He closed the door, ending their conversation. If he had money, he wouldn’t have to deal with the Red Woman’s nonsense. How could he just let Daenerys and the story of a lifetime leave?

He wouldn’t let her get away so easily, he decided. He would follow her, and when the timing wasn’t too convenient, he would “bump” into her again. It might be a little creepy, bordering on stalking, but it was better than kidnapping her by forcing her to stay here.

He waited for Melisandre to leave, knowing she’d still watch him, but he needed to hurry.

Daenerys was getting away.

He followed her.

 

* * *

 

Daenerys walked on the street, for the very first time without a guard or anyone to guide her. There was no reason to hurry back. She decided against taking a cab, choosing to walk back instead. She could hear Barristan and Jorah warning her of the dangers of such a thing, but there were so many people bustling around in the street, she doubted she could be in any real danger.

Unless, of course, someone recognized her.

Her hair was covered, so she hoped that would be enough, but looking around at the rest of the people of Braavos, she was the only one with her hair covered. It was too warm of a day for such things. She didn’t get many looks, but she worried that the scarf might be making her stand out more than it hid her.

Still, she tried to enjoy her free time. She wasn’t positive as to where she was in relation to where she needed to be, but she could always get directions if necessary. She walked through the busy sidewalks, getting lost in the crowds, and loved every minute of it.

It was nice not to be Princess Daenerys Targaryen for a few hours, but just Dany. She noticed a vendor selling newspapers. She nearly fled from the sight of her face staring back at her on most of the newspaper covers, but one headline caught her attention: Princess Sick, All Appointments Cancelled.

She was free. Truly free. For the entire day. She made no effort to hide grin spreading across her face.

Walking now with a lightness to her step, she felt happier than she had since her brothers’ deaths. After a while her feet began to protest, as the heels she wore weren’t meant for walking around in all day.

She spotted a clothing store and ducked in to find some more suitable footwear. She wasn’t sure how much Jon had given her, but she hoped it would be enough.

Jon. She thought as she looked through Braavosi dresses. Part of her regretting not taking him up on his offer of brunch, especially now that she knew she had the whole day free. She thought about retracing her steps and finding his place again, finding him.

But she dismissed it. If she looked back, she would be lost.

A beautiful blue dress caught her eye despite the fact she was looking for shoes. It wouldn’t be appropriate for her. It was too shear, too risque of a cut, and not in her usual House colors.

Still she draped her size across her forearm, not ready to walk away. The silk felt so smooth and cool against her skin.

Daenerys made her way to the shoes and a pair of gold laced sandals that wrapped around her calves immediately caught her eye. She tried not to make too much of a connection that the sandals and the dress would go well together. She tried on a pair, and they fit.

A saleswoman came over to ask her how she was doing. Daenerys smiled and replied in Valyrian, “Fabulous. I would like to walk out in these shoes if that’s okay.”

The saleswoman nodded. “And the dress?” she asked, indicating the blue silk hanging off Daenerys arm.

Daenerys knew she should say no, but it was so pretty. She would never be able to wear the dress, as it was in Braavos style, her breasts were only covered by straps of silk. If she did there would be long think pieces at home about how it was inappropriate for her to wear something so sexualized and how she was being a bad role model. But it was nice to have a pretty outfit, just for her, even if she would never be able to wear it in public. She bought it.

It was probably the cheapest dress she owned and certainly the most scandalous. She carried it, along with her heels, in her shopping bag with pride.

Walking down the street again, she thinks she notices more people looking at her now. The story Tyrion had used was that she was sick, so if anyone did recognize her, she realized, it would be worse. She was supposed to be sick in bed. She knew Tyrion, Missandei and the rest of them were probably looking for her.

Daenerys spotted a hair salon and stopped in its window, looking over the pictures in the window. One of them was of a woman with the same shade of hair as her own platinum locks. She always loved her hair, but if she truly wanted a day out it was too inconspicuous.

She stepped inside the salon.

The man who cut her hair sported wild blue locks, and wore gold jewelry pierced through his ears and one eyebrow. His name was Daario.

Most of the male hairstylists she knew were gay, but this one clearly wasn’t. He flirted with her not in the fun way but in the lustful way that made her know he wasn’t entirely joking.

It gave her a bit of a thrill.

“You have such beautiful hair,” he said, running his fingers through it. Studying her face in the mirror, which made Daenerys squirm under the unabashed attention.

She swallowed her feelings and commanded, “I want to cut it. To my shoulders at least.”

He shook his head, “Such a crime.”

“Also, I want a different color,” she said in a probably too commanding tone.

He grinned. “With your hair color, you’re practically a blank canvas. You could go with any hair color you want. Probably only take an hour or so to do. Could I interest you in a hot pink?” He looked into her eyes through the mirror. “No, a purple to match your eyes.”

Daenerys thought about it, but it was too much. She shook her head.

“What color then?” he asked.

Daenerys almost answered red. But no. She didn’t want red hair. She wouldn’t let Messandre’s words (or Jon’s possible preferences) influence her decision.  She actually had always dream of one hair color, odd as it was. “Make me a brunette. Use a chocolate brown.”

He tutted in disappointment. “How boring.”

But he dutifully chopped off some of her hair before leaving her for a moment to mix the color. She spotted his phone on his work station. Before she could think about it too much, she snatched it up.

She wanted to text Missandei, just so that she would know her princess was safe. If they track this man’s phone, she’ll (hopefully) be gone before they arrive. But then she realized she didn’t know Missandei’s number. The only phone number she had memorized was her own.

So she texted herself, deleting the message right after it sent, and placing the phone back on the counter before Daario got back. She deleted the message since she didn’t want her private number to get out. This Daario seemed nice, but she couldn’t be too trusting.

He came back with a smile, turning her away from the mirror. “Now, let’s make some magic.”

Daenerys found Daario surprisingly easy to talk to. He’d traveled almost as much as she had though his stories were far more entertaining than hers.

Once her hair was dyed and he was finishing the hair cut, they were playing a game where he was trying to guess what she did for a living.

“Are you a musician?”

“No.”

“Artist?”

She shook her head.

“Painter?”

“Isn’t that an artist?”

“Not necessarily.”

“No.”

He finished her hair. “I got it.” He leaned in. “Model.”

Daenerys blushed a bit and shook her head. “Thank you, but no.”

He looked at her. “It’s perfect.” He spun her around. Daenerys’ saw a beautiful woman in the mirror, looking back at her. She knew it must be her, but she almost didn’t recognize herself.

She grinned. She couldn’t have been more pleased. “It’s just what I wanted.”

Daario’s face appeared next to hers. “No one will recognize you.”

“I agree,” she said, her smile spreading even wider..

Daario’s eyes met hers, “You should come dancing with me tonight. On a ship near the Titan.” He plucked a flower from a vase. “Music. Moonlight.” He placed the flower in her new hair. “It’s very romantic. Will you come?”

“I wish I could.” Her eyes met his in the mirror.

“I hope you change your mind. I’ll be there after 9, dancing on the water. You’d be the most beautiful woman there.” He pressed a kiss to her hand, something a thousand men had done before, yet it felt different this time.

Daenerys took her hand away. “Thank you.” She looked at the mirror again. She was unrecognizable. “Thank you very much.”

 

* * *

 

Jon realized too late that he should have grabbed his camera. He has his phone, but it wasn’t useful. He had taken a few pictures with it, while pretending to be texting, but the pictures weren’t going to be print quality. Damn Melisandre. He’d had to leave so quickly to catch up with Daenerys he hadn’t had time to grab anything important. Though his phone was useful for one thing, he texted Sam to bring him a camera, preferably the hidden one.

Even through text message, Jon could feel Sam’s disapproval at his pursuing this story. Though he still agreed to bring it to Jon.

Outside the salon the princess had walked into, Jon wished for entertainment that wouldn’t completely drain his phone’s battery. He thought about texting family back home, but the time difference stopped him. While it was likely that Arya and possibly even Robb would be up, he didn’t want to wake them for nothing but his boredom if that wasn’t the case.

When she finally walked out again, Jon almost didn’t recognize her. Daenerys now didn’t have the classic Targaryen look, now sporting brown shoulder length locks. Part of him hated to see her change her hair color. It wasn’t her.

But she looked happy enough, and he couldn’t deny her new hair was striking. It made her eyes pop even more. She was still stunning, no matter what cosmetic changes she might make. In her hand she was carrying her purchase from the store she’d stopped at earlier.

He was beginning to wonder if she planned on spending all of his money on frivolities. Part of him wondered if the princess had ever learned the true value of money. As far as Jon knew, King Aerys was no Ned Stark. He didn’t demand his children to work.

Though his first born, Rhaegar, had served in the army for a tour of duty. Jon had always looked up to the prince, even though he’d died when Jon was a child. It had been sad, so much that Jon was pretty sure he’d cried once he was out of sight of Robb and Theon, who would’ve mocked him for mourning someone he didn’t even know.

He realized Daenerys would have been about a year younger than him. He wondered how she had taken the news of her brother’s sudden death. The official report was that she had been close to her brother and missed him dearly. But had that been true? Maybe she had hardly spent any time with Rhaegar so his death hadn’t meant much to her. Or perhaps she had been close to the crown prince and his passing had devastated her to the point where she hadn’t left her bed for a week.

Jon wanted to ask her, but he was still following her from a safe distance. He watched as she approached an ice cream vendor. His stomach growled at the sight. He should have grabbed some breakfast while she had gotten her hair done. But he’d been too scared to let her out of his sight.

She paid for the iced cream with, Jon noticed, a dwindling supply of money. She ate her treat as she made her way across a canal into a market with benches to sit. Outside the market, she was stopped by a flower vendor. Jon ducked behind a column. He heard the man try to sell her a bouquet. She answered that the flowers were beautiful, but she didn’t have the money to pay him.

Jon watched as the man still gave her a flower for no charge. He was impressed. Most Braavosi salesman never gave anything away for free. He’d always chalked it up to the city being well-known for its commerce and wealth, which also came with a side of greed.

He watched sit on a bench alone, eating her treat for a moment. She looked so content. So lovely.

Jon decided it was time to accidentally bump into her.

* * *

 

Tyrion was combing over social media. Not one picture. Not one update on a princess spotting. Where were the paparazzi when you needed them?

Frustrated with his failure, Tyrion called in Jorah and Barristan. “Any luck?” he asked the bodyguards.

They both shook their heads. Tyrion sighed in frustration. Where could she be? How could she elude them? Part of him was beginning to worry. Had some harm come to her? The princess was young and could be impulsive, but she was rarely reckless. But they were in a foreign land. Perhaps someone who didn’t recognize her or her famous features had harmed her in some way.

If that happened then Tyrion Lannister would be the man who lost the last Targaryen royal. He could kiss his career good-bye, along with any dreams he might have had of finally pleasing his father.

Not to mention, he cared for Daenerys. He didn’t want to see anything bad happen to her.

“Lord Tyrion,” Missandei entered the room, holding a phone. “I think there’s something you should see.”

Tyrion took the phone, recognizing it as the princess’ own. She’d sent them a message via a blocked number:

_I am safe. Please don’t worry. Just taking a day off._

Now that his worries were settled, Tyrion immediately began to form a plan. He handed the phone to Jorah. “Track her down. Find out who’s phone that is and use them to find the princess.”

Jorah took it with a nod, before rushing out of the room.


	3. Firsts

Daenerys sat on a bench, overlooking the water. Men worked on the boats, either ferrying people where they needed to go or by preparing for fishing expeditions. The young princess imagined what a life must be like, relying on nature to provide a livelihood, being away from your family for possibly weeks at a time.

She was lost in her thoughts when a familiar voice interrupted, “Dany?”

Only one person in Braavos knew her by that name. The smile came to her face before she even saw him. “Are you following me, Mr. Snow?”

He ignored her question. He looked at her closer, his eyes focusing on her hair. “Or is that really you?”

She laughed, running a hand through her new hair. “I like it,” he said.

“Oh. Didn’t like the blonde?” Daenerys wasn’t sure what answer she was looking for, but she was feeling strangely insecure.

“No, I liked the blonde too. But the brown,” his eyes bored into hers, “it changes your eye color. It’s nice. I like it.”

Daenerys could feel herself blush. Jon smiled at her reaction, his eyes crinkling. The moment stretched for a moment, as the two of them studied each other, attraction crackling between them.

Then the moment ended. Daenerys removed the flower Daario had placed in her hair, setting it next to the one the vendor had given her. They were pretty flowers, but different from each other.

“So this was why you had to leave?” Jon looked around. He had said it in a tone that might have been jokingly offended or might have been genuinely hurt. Daenerys felt the need to explain.

“I have a confession to make,” Daenerys looked at Jon. She loved the way he looked at her. Like she was just like every other girl in the world. She hated to lose that. “I ran away last night from...school.”

“Trouble with the teacher?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“You don’t run away for nothing.”

“I only meant for it to be an hour or two. They gave me something to make me sleep. But I better get back now.”

“Before you do, why don’t you take some time for yourself?”

“Maybe for another hour.”

“Live dangerously. Take the whole day.”

It was tempting. It was so tempting. All of her appointments had been cancelled. She’d never get another opportunity like this. “I could do some of the things I’ve always wanted to.”

“Like what?” Jon took the seat next to her, his eyes still focused on hers.

He was easy to talk to. “I just would like to do whatever I’d like the whole day long.”

“Like change your hair, eat ice cream and sit on a bench?”

“Exactly. Maybe even have a little fun and excitement.” She thought of the invitation she’d received earlier. A night of dancing with a handsome stranger. Wouldn’t that be something? She looked over at Jon. The thought of him accompanying her appealed to her even more.

“Well, I have the day off too. Why don’t we do all those things, together?”

Daenerys beamed at the thought. She stood to join Jon and left the flowers behind.

 

* * *

 

Jon felt a little dirty about what he was doing, but he tired to push it down. He wasn’t going to write anything inflammatory about the princess. At least, he didn’t think he would. She seemed a little too innocent for any really good secrets.

He took her out to lunch, just as he had asked earlier. He asked her questions, knowing he was interviewing while she was just making conversation.

It made him feel dirtier.

“What will your school think of your hair?”

“They’ll have a fit,” she answered with a satisfied laugh.

He laughed too. Then she said aloud, not really asking him, “What would they say if they knew I’d spent the night in your room?”

Jon shifted uncomfortably, but he answered, “You don’t tell your folks, and I won’t tell mine.” Jon wondered what his father and step-mother’s reaction would be if they knew who he’d spent last night with. His dad probably wouldn’t react much, maybe a small hint of pride under a scolding. Catelyn would probably remind him that Robb was the real heir and would be a far better match for a princess. She was trying to be better, Jon knew, but she couldn’t quite get past his position as a threat to her children.

“Agreed,” Dany answered with a smile.

She ordered champagne for lunch, he commented on it, “A little early for drinking. You sure you weren’t drunk last night?”

“I only have champagne for lunch on special occasions.”

“Such as?”

“Last time it was for my father’s anniversary.”

“Wedding?”

“No. It was the 40th anniversary of…” She thought for a moment. “...of the day he got his job.”

Jon remembered that day. His whole family had been invited to King’s Landing, except him. The bastard wasn’t welcome. He took more than a sip of his water. “40 years,” Jon nodded. “What does he do?”

Dany took a bit of bread. “You might call it public relations.”

“That’s hard work.”

“Yes, I wouldn’t care for it.”

“Really?” Jon wasn’t aware of the princess ever saying something like that before.

“Yes, I’ve heard him complain about it.” He knew he’d never heard anything like that said before. Kings didn’t complain about being king. Not publically anyway.

“Why doesn’t he quit?”

“People in his line of work almost never do, unless it’s unhealthy for them to do so.”

“Here’s to his health then,” Jon toasted with the just arrived champagne.

“You know, that’s what everyone says.” Dany grinned.

They continued to talk and the dirty feeling in Jon grew. This didn’t feel like an interview, Jon thought. It felt like a date. Dany smiled at him. One that was going very well. He tried to hide his discomfort at the thought.

Before their food arrived, Dany excused herself to use the restroom. Jon took the opportunity to use his phone. He noticed a notification from the Iron Bank of Braavos. They warned him that he only had 25 gold dragons in his account. Thank you, Iron Bank of Braavos, Jon thought, I was not aware that I’m broke. Even more infuriating was the fact that he wasn’t actually broke, he just couldn’t access those funds.

He ignored that. He’d worry about money later. He recorded some notes about what the princess had said though he doubted he’d forget anything she told him. He thought about turning on the recording sound device, but he never did that with an interviewee unless he asked first. He wasn’t about to abandon all of his integrity.

Jon checked if Dany was returning, but there was no sign of her. So he texted Sam to see where he was and if he had the requested camera. Sam replied almost immediately. It turned out he was just around the corner.

It didn’t take long for Jon to spot him. Sam was too big a guy to ever be unnoticable. Jon glanced back to the bathrooms again. Why was she taking so long?

Sam had brought several cameras, including the hidden one. “Is it really the princess?”

Jon slipped one of the smaller ones into his pocket as well as taking the hidden one. It was disguised as a lighter, he slipped that into his other pocket. Looking back again, he saw that Daenerys was finally beginning to emerge.

“You tell me,” Jon pointed her out.

Sam’s eyes widened. “That really is her. I think so anyway. The hair’s different.”

Good, Jon thought. He told Sam, “Great. Now get going.”

“Do you really think she’d recognize me? She must have meet a hundred people last night.”

“Maybe, maybe not, either way I can’t risk it.”

“The guys are here too, you know.” Sam didn’t look at Jon when he said this.

Jon knew if the guys were here that couldn’t be good. “Why are the guys here, Sam?”

“I couldn’t not let them come along. We’re going on the tour after this.”

Jon looked around. The rest of them would do something stupid and blow this for him. He just knew it. “Well, stay out of sight, okay?”

“I’ll try, but well, you know Grenn.”

Yes, Jon did know Grenn. Grenn, who would probably stop to say hello if he saw Jon. Grenn, who would certainly stop if he saw Jon with a beautiful woman. Grenn, who wouldn’t be kept away if he realized the beautiful woman was the recluse Westerosi princess, who’d never given a private interview.

He chased off Sam, hoping that the rest of them would stay away.

Part of Jon knew, hope or not, he was going to gain some company before this was all over.

 

* * *

 

Daenerys studied herself in the mirror, she almost didn’t recognize the woman looking back. It was amazing how different she looked with a hair change. She played with it a bit, running her hands through it, always surprised at how quickly she ran out of hair.

Tyrion would flip out when he saw it. She was a Targaryen; she was supposed to have Targaryen hair. Her great-grandfather Aegon V had cut all his hair off, but that had been to escape a revolt and disguise himself. She had no such excuse.

But at the end of the day, what did it really matter? Her hair would grow back and the brown color would fade. She had been such a well-behaved princess all of her life. She deserved a moment of rebellion.

Daenerys thought about how in another life, Rhaegar would have taken all the royal responsibilities, leaving her and Viserys to be the irresponsible, fun royals. She knew her royal history, probably better than anyone in the world, and that’s how it often worked out. One royal ruled and the other either had fun or supported their sibling’s rule in other ways.

She supposed she actually would have been the later, as Viserys had already claimed the former. Before the kingship had passed on to him after Rhaegar’s unexpected death, Viserys had been partying and flirting, mostly. It hadn’t changed much once the crown passed his way, except their father and Lord Tywin took a more active role in Viserys’ life, which he’d hated.

Daenerys understood why now. It was hard to be the heir. To have all the expectations on your shoulders. She brushed her fingers through her hair once more. She should be getting back to Jon. She’d been in here for too long.

She exited the bathroom, making her way back to their table. She looked Jon over from the back. He had such beautiful hair. She wanted to run her hands through his curls.

Inwardly, she scolded herself for such a notion. She was a royal princess and he was some expat commoner. She could not think such things about him.

Still, the thought lingered as she took her seat across from him. He gave her a smile, tight smile. “I hope you’re food’s not cold.”

She noticed he hadn’t touched his yet. “You didn’t need to wait for me.”

“It’s no trouble,” he said with a shrug.

Daenerys looked at Jon a bit more closely. His manners were quite good for a northerner. Not that they were actually the barbarians some in King’s Landing called them, but in Daenerys’ experience, their manners did edge a bit more on the brusque and honest. She wondered if he was high birth, but that was impossible, she’d met all those nobles.

Still, he was a mystery to her, this Jon Snow. She took her first careful bite, trying not to stare at him.

They chatted a bit, as they ate their meals. He told her how the temperature adjustment had been difficult and he still wasn’t quite used to dressing for the Braavos weather, missing his furs. She told him that she found Braavos to be much cooler than King’s Landing, which was so crowded it was almost a suffocating heat. Not like Braavos with its many canals.

He asked her a few questions about King’s Landing, which she tried to keep vague. Maybe she should have lied all together and told him she was from somewhere else entirely, but the truth would be easier to keep track of. Besides, as the largest city in Westeros, it wasn’t like anyone would assume she was the one royal princess out of the millions who lived there.

When they finished eating, Jon leaned back and lit up a cigarette. She cocked her head, looking at him. He put the lighter down, facing her. He noticed her look and took the cigarette out, self-consciously. “I guess I should have asked, do you mind if I smoke?”

She shook her head. That wasn’t why she was looking at him. She asked, “Can I have one?”

Daenerys held out a hand while Jon’s eyebrow shot up. He released a puff of smoke. “Have you ever smoked before?”

“Nope,” Daenerys voice dropped into a more sultry tone. “It would be my first.” The words were almost sexual, almost flirting. Part of Daenerys wanted to blush, as it wasn’t something proper princesses did, but a larger part of her argued that if she was truly taking a day off, she should take it off from her title as well. Let her be Dany Stormborn, a woman of 23, and nothing more.

Jon held out a cigarette, lighting it for her. His hands continued to fiddle with the lighter, a nervous habit, she wondered. But then why should he be nervous? She took a deep inhale of smoke and then pushed it out.

She expected to cough. Wasn’t that what happened in the movies? But she didn’t.

“Your first cigarette,” Jon said, mostly to himself.

Daenerys looked at the lighter in Jon’s hand, itching to play with it. She shared her family’s love of playing with fire. Instead she focused on the lit tip of her cigarette.  “Don’t you just love fire?”

Jon stopped fiddling with the lighter. “Bit of a pyro are you?”

“I guess so. Everyone in my family likes fire. I wonder if something like that can even be genetic.”

Jon responded that he wasn’t sure. They sat there for a moment, smoking in comfortable silence. Daenerys felt very exotic, as if she’d been dropped into a different life. It was a perfect break.

When they finished, Jon asked her, “What’s next on the schedule?”

“Not that word,” Daenerys said, putting out her cigarette.

Jon smiled. She was beginning to know him well enough to know that smiles were rare things from Jon Snow. “What’s next then, Dany?”

She quite liked how Jon said her name.

 

* * *

 

They walked for a bit, and Jon had to curl his hand into a fist to stop himself from taking her hand into his. This whole thing really was beginning to feel like a date. And as it continued, Jon was starting to realize he minded it less and less.

This could mean trouble.

Dany, Daenerys, Jon was realizing was funny and witty when allowed off her handlers’ chains. She had an almost sardonic sense of humor that quite suited his. She was smart, kind and warm. He liked her.

Though Jon remembered rumors that the Dragon princess had the famous Targaryen temper. Even Robb had once told him a story of how cold he’d seen Daenerys get when their father’s friend Robert Baratheon made a crude joke at her expense during a dinner. Jon had a hard time picturing it, of reconciling the fierce demon his brother had described with the warm woman walking beside him.

She was so beautiful.

Jon attempted to get her to open up about her family, but either the deaths that surround the Targaryens in recent years or her own desire to keep her identity hidden kept her tight-lipped. Jon let the topic drop without incident.

Though then she picked it up again, “I’ll tell you this much about my family, Jon. ‘All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.’ And I certainly have a unique family.”

It was almost shocking how truthful that statement was. Jon stopped to look at Daenerys appropriately. She was looking into the water of the canal they were walking parallel to. He let her look away. It may have been too honest for her as well. He replied, “Anna Karenina. Always liked that one.”

Daenerys looked at him, side-eyed. “Your nonexistent bookshelves are probably full of depressive tomes like it.”

Jon laughed. His current apartment had been too small for any books or shelves to put them on, and she’d noticed. How did she peg him so effortlessly? How could she know him without actually know him, and so quickly? He tried to clamp down on his feelings and go back to the impartial journalist, but it was more difficult than he could ever remember it being. “Anna Karenina isn't that depressing. It’s more bittersweet.”

“True,” she agreed. She looked out over the blue-green water again. “And so being young and dipped in folly, I fell in love with melancholy.”

“Poe,” Jon identified. He was slightly impressed. But then why wouldn't a princess be able to quote classic literature?

Her violet eyes glanced over to him again. “You know your literary references.”

“So do you."

She watched as she twirled her shopping bag. "A product of my expensive, ongoing education. You?”

“I was an English major.”

“Really? You have a surprising lack of books in that case.”

Jon decided to explain, feeling like he was being the one interviewed. “I left them at my parents’ house. Too heavy to move and I don’t have the room anyway. Just me and my Kindle Fire.”

She turned to face him fully now. “So how did an English major become a photographer?”

This was trickier territory. He didn’t want to lie to her, but he also didn’t want to tell her too much about his profession. He tried to shrug it off, “It was a hobby that turned into a job.”

“I’d like to hear that story.”

Jon shifted from one leg to the other, his eyes now looking out into the depths of water they were walking beside. “It’s our day off. Let’s agree not to talk about work today.”

She smiled and Jon worried that his heart stopped. “Agreed.”

Daenerys began walking again and Jon moved beside her. The walked in comfortable silence, aimless.

Then a bike messenger came out of nowhere, clearly in a hurry, rushing on the sidewalk rather than in the street like he should have been. Jon noticed before Dany and grabbed her arm to pull him into his chest. “Watch out.”

She stumbled into him, her hands resting on his pecs as the biker rushed past them. She was so close. Jon hoped the heat he felt where she touched him wasn’t obvious, but he also hoped this electricity he felt between them wasn’t just him. When her big eyes looked up into his, he swore he could see some dilation in them.

Then again, maybe he was just delusional. Princesses aren’t for bastards, Jon admonished himself. He set Daenerys back onto her feet, removing his hands from hers. “Sorry about that,” he apologized though he wasn’t sure why.

He tried to walk away, but Daenerys stopped him, interlacing her arm into his. Walking tucked in beside him now.

Jon almost couldn’t breath. Was this real? Was this really happening? Or had he gotten so drunk last night that he’d passed out on the dirty poker table and was currently drooling and missing his press conference with this very princess?

Walking arm in arm proved to be a bit awkward on the sidewalk, so instead he took her hand, interlacing their fingers. She seemed pleased enough with it.

Jon was surprised that he damn near blushed when he did it. Since when did holding a pretty girl’s hand make him blush? Was he a green boy or a grown man?

“So any idea of where we are walking to?” Jon bit his tongue, nearly calling her princess.

Daenerys bit her lip. “Not really. You’ve lived here for three months, what do I absolutely have to see?”

Jon was almost embarrassed by his lack of Braavos knowledge. He knew some things, of course, but he knew a lot more of nothing. “Honestly, I’ve been working so much, I haven’t had much time to see the sights.”

“I understand that. Working too much. Not having any time to enjoy yourself.”

Jon opened his mouth to respond, when he saw a familiar group of men walking towards him.

Shit.

He looked around frantically, but there was nowhere to hide. And they’d already spotted him. He only hoped Grenn didn’t recognize who he was with. He really hoped that Sam hadn’t confessed everything to the rest of the Night’s Watch crew.

Jon stopped, letting go of Daenerys’ hand. She looked at him, concerned and confused. Before he could explain, Grenn was patting him on the shoulder. “Jon, old boy, finally breaking your vow of celibacy?”

Jon glared at Grenn. It was not an appropriate joke in front of a princess. He hoped that meant the rest of them didn’t know who his companion was, but one could never know with Grenn. “What are you boys doing here?”

“Same as you,” Pyp answered. “Taking in the sights.” He eyed Daenerys up and down, to her obvious discomfort. “Though you’ve found much prettier sights than us. Hello.” Pyp held hand. “Pyp.”

Daenery held out hers as well, correcting her mistake of offering it palm down to sideways almost instantly. Jon might not have caught it if he hadn’t known to look for it. “Dany,” she said.

Pyp smiled and nodded to Jon. “What’s a pretty lass like you doing with this dour son of a bitch?”

Forgetting he was in the company of a royal princess, Jon responded to his friend with, “Don’t call my mother a bitch.”

Pyp scoffed. “You don’t even know who your mother is.”

From anyone but these three men, it would have been a hurtful comment that would have sent Jon either into a rage or sulk. But from one of his best friends it was friendly (if somewhat devastating) jab. Jon responded in kind, “At least I can dream. You know your mother is hogs hand’s whore.”

Pyp laughed, but Jon noticed Daenerys looked somewhat confused, if also amused. She introduced herself to the rest of the men.

Sam was right, there was no glimmer of recognition when she met him a second time. Jon supposed she met so many people it would be hard to remember any one face after awhile. The brain could only retain so much information.

Grenn took control again, “So what did you kids have planned for the rest of the day?

“Kids?” Daenerys said it with a look that expressed her incongruity. Jon had to repress a smirk. Having the guys around was going to make it harder hide what he was feeling.

But then maybe it would be for the best. He wouldn’t be able to get too coupley with her if Sam and the rest were around to chaperone. Yes, it would be for the best.

“Fair enough,” Grenn, shockingly, conceded. That man never conceded anything. Must have been a royal thing, to even get a stubborn ass to bend to your will.

Sam piped up. “We were going to take a bit of a tour, if you wanted to join. See the sights.”

Daenerys smiled at Sam, making him duck his head in embarrassment. “That sounds great.” She looked to Jon. “What do you think?”

Jon realized he wouldn’t be able to deny her anything she wanted. He shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Sounds good to me.”

Pyp took Daenerys by the elbow, and Jon had to repress a protest. “So tell me, how did you met the broody one?”

“Well, it turns out he rescued me last night.”

Pyp looked back at Jon over his shoulder. “That’s our Jon. Massive hero complex.”

Over her shoulder Daenerys smirked at Jon. He could feel his heartbeat increase at the look. Gods, what he wanted to do to that woman. “You don’t say?”

But that wasn’t appropriate for so many reasons.

The others walked ahead, while Jon stayed in the back, though his eyes stayed on Daenerys. Grenn came up beside him. “Sam was right. She is hot.”

Jon frowned.

 

* * *

 

Tyrion’s phone rang again. He wanted to ignore it, but he’d already ignored it two times. If he ignored it a third time it would give the impression that something was wrong. And while something was wrong, Westeros didn’t quite need to know that just yet.

“Hello Jaime. I’m a bit busy right now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” his brother replied, sounding bored. “You’re always busy, just like dad.” Tyrion frowned, guessing Jaime had made the comment just to annoy him. “The boss wants something."

“You’re supposed to call him ‘his grace,’ you know,” Tyrion responded.

Tyrion knew there was an eye roll on the other end of the line. “We’re brothers for the sake of the gods. Can’t we just put aside protocol for a moment?”

“You’re a kingsguard,” Tyrion wished he could have a glass of wine, but it was too early and he had too much on his plate right now to indulge in his bad habits. “You should know better.”

“Fine. His Grace heard that his daughter and only living heir wasn’t feeling well. After what happened, well, he’s a bit anxious.”

“She’ll be fine,” Tyrion reassured his brother.

“Still, you know how the king gets. And with Aemon treating her...well, it’s worse than usual. Just put her on and I’ll get the king, so he can talk with her.”

“No,” Tyrion said, slightly panicked. “No, don’t get the king. Just reassure him. His daughter is fine and expected to make a full recovery."

There was no sound from the end of the line for a moment. Then Jaime asked. “Why don’t I just speak with the princess? Then I can reassure him that I’ve spoken with her and everything’s fine.”

Tyrion’s mind raced. He trusted his brother, more than anyone, but his brother’s damnable honor might rear its ugly head and demand they tell the king. He decided to gamble and tell the truth. “She’s not sick, Jaime. She left last night. And we haven’t found her yet.”

“What?” Jaime was clearly shocked, and a bit angry. “You lost her? You lost the heir to the Iron Throne? How? How did you do that?”

Tyrion wanted to scold his brother to keep his voice down. You never knew who was listening in the Red Keep. But he was hardly in a position to be handing out lectures right now. “We didn’t lose her. We just can’t quite find her yet. It’s being handled.”

“It better be,” Jaime inhaled, and Tyrion could picture his brother running a hand through his golden locks, a habit he always indulged in when he was nervous or worried. “Do you have any leads or anything?”

“We might,” Tyrion replied. “Jorah’s out fetching him right now.”

“Fuck,” Jaime said. “This is bad. This is really bad, Tyrion.”

“I know that.”

“Do you? Do you understand the shitstorm that Aerys is going to kick up if he finds out his only child, his only heir, is missing?” Jaime said nothing for a moment. “I’ll send a couple of kingsguard."

“How is that going to help?” Tyrion asked. “It’ll just make it look like a bigger deal than it is. Besides everyone will recognize them and wonder what’s going on. We can’t afford a scandal.”

“I could at least come,” Jaime said, his voice softer.

Tyrion wasn’t sure if he was volunteering as a brother or a kingsguard, but either way the answer was, “No.”

Jaime let out another sigh of frustration. Tyrion’s attention was drawn to the opening of the door. Jorah stepped in. Tyrion gave a questioning look to which the old bear nodded in response. “I have to go.”

“I should hope so. Stop talking to me and find her.”

Tyrion ended the call. His brother’s worry only intensified his own. Aerys was getting more unpredictable in his old age. And if he found out his daughter was missing, he’d be furious and look for someone to blame. Tyrion would be an easy target. It was almost certain he’d be demoted, if not worse.

Tyrion couldn’t bare the look of disappointment that would surely cross his father’s face if he failed. Tywin would probably even comment that he should have chosen Cersei for his successor as Hand instead of his dwarf son, just to rub salt in the wound.

Tyrion tried to push it aside. He hadn’t failed yet. No one knew. And they had found a lead.

Jorah brought in a blue-haired man, one whose name Tyrion was Daario Naharis.

Tyrion smiled, bringing out his best charm. “Hello, Mr. Naharis. Tell me everything about this silver blonde customer you had this morning.”

The man grinned, a gold tooth glinting, “She’s a brunette now.”


	4. Fun and Excitement

Jon nearly stopped walking, looking over at Grenn. He tried to play it off. “What do you mean?”

“Oh don’t bullshit me,” Grenn said, stopping and keeping Jon back as well. “Sam can’t keep a secret. We’re all friends. We should all benefit from your good fortune.”

Jon wanted to protest, wanted to say it wasn’t like that, but it was. It was and he felt awful for it. This just made it worse. At least when it was just him, he could control it. Control what was said and shared. Now…

He should have just let her leave this morning. Or never left his apartment and spent the day locked away with her, never knowing who she truly was. Jon longed for a chance to redo this day.

But Grenn continued, not letting him get lost in his thoughts. “You’re not the only one who need money, Snow. And not all of us have trust funds waiting on our next birthday.”

Jon wanted to protest that Grenn shouldn’t see the princess as just a source of money, but then again, he didn’t have room to talk. His eyes drifted to Dany, who despite the hair change, still stood out in the crowded streets. He wanted to call the whole thing off, wished he could pretend she wasn’t the princess.

But he knew he would never get away with such a lie. He said to Grenn, “Fine, but respectful.”

Grenn smirked, “We’re both from Westeros, Snow. I’m not planning on dragging my future queen through the mud.” He started to walk. “You know, unless she deserves it.”

He stopped Grenn, “I mean it. I need you to promise me that you’ll behave.”

Grenn nodded and they caught up with the rest of them, the princess smiling when she turned back to look for Jon. He returned the smile, noticing Edd’s sly look from the corner of his eye. Edd always was the most observant of the crew.

Jon didn’t feel comfortable with this, but had little choice, he followed what was now his group, ready to take in the sights of Braavos. Sam called back, “Jon, we’re thinking of grabbing some scooters, get around faster. What do you think?”

Jon stopped listening to Sam his eyes following the princess who ran to the big black scooter, hopping on with a smile. Jon’s face blanched, but before he could run up, Grenn took him by the arm, leaning over. “I don’t know that she’ll behave though,” he said with a smirk.

Jon scowled and ran up to Daenerys. “Do you know how to drive one of these things?”

“No, but I doubt it’s that hard. I can pilot an airplane. I’m an excellent horsewoman. I think I can handle a scooter.” She smiled at him, her innocent act on full blast.

Jon knew better now. He noticed the brand name, Dragon, and he had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Of course that’s the one she’d go for. “I’ll drive,” he said as the shopowner came over to discuss pricing with Jon and the rest.

Though as Daenerys spoke Valyrian the best, she was the one who ended up negotiating the price. She actually was quite shrewd and got them a good deal. Jon was impressed. He guessed they didn’t call her the fierce dragon princess for nothing.

He got on the scooter, which was the most popular form of ground transportation in Braavos since the canals made the streets so narrow, and Dany climbed on behind him. He knew he might regret his next words, but he also knew it would be for her safety, “Put your arms around me.”

“Oh,” she hesitated. “Okay.” She wrapped her arms loosely around him, barely touching him. Jon knew it was for the best. He looked to the other men getting their own scooters, discreetly Sam held up a camera he’d be using for pictures on the back of his scooter with Edd.

Jon nodded, the guilt still present. Maybe this whole thing had been a bad idea. Still he waited for every to get situated and then when they were ready to take off, he gunned it.

The sudden jolt forward, caused a yelp from the princess as she gripped him tighter. Jon was both pleased and made nervous by her response. She smelled so good.

He put it out of his mind as he zipped down the narrow street, ready to show her the sights of Braavos. The drove down the road that ran parallel to the Long Canal. One glance back and Jon could see how beautiful Dany looked, with the sun reflecting off the water and the cares and worries off of her normally serious face. He wished he could take her picture and drive at the same time. He only hoped Sam was capturing the moment.

Jon navigated them to Sheelba Square, knowing that they’re might be a play running. They parked the scooters and walked around, Sam discreetly snapping away as the play, a bawdy act not fit for a princess played, much to Daenerys amusement. Though he supposed he should just be glad the mummers weren’t doing a political play about Daenerys’ royal family, as they often did when someone special visited.

Still, he spent more of the performance watching Daenerys and her reaction to things than the play itself. He was surprised by the amount of jokes she understood and by the filthy ones that made her laugh. At one point, she laughed hard enough to need to grasp Jon’s knee.

He could feel the heat off her hand immediately, and it warmed him better than any fire on the Wall ever had. He knew he should take it off, but she didn’t seemed inclined to remove it and Jon didn’t want her to. So they stayed seated next to each other, her hand on his knee and he put his arm on the back of her chair.

Jon tried not to think about how he was getting used to casual physical contact with the heir to the Iron Throne. He also tried not to think about the fact that they looked like a regular couple in any of the pictures Sam was taking. He was doing it so that they would blend into the crowd better, so no one would take any notice of the woman who looked so like the crowned princess except for the hair.

These were the lies he told himself so he could keep his arm at her back and her hand on his knee.

When the play ended, Daenerys was the first to stand, grinning and clapping. “That was divine.”

Jon chuckled, “I don’t know that I would use the word divine to describe a play that featured at least six phalluses in it.”

Daenerys’ grin hadn’t moved, “But it was so common. I loved it. Because of school, all I get to enjoy for entertainment is super cultured fare like opera and Shakespeare.”

Jon’s head ducked at an incline, “I don’t know, Shakespeare could tell a dirty joke.”

She considered his words for a moment before agreeing, “That’s true. _Much Ado About Nothing_ is just a play on words for a cunt joke.” Jon burst out laughing at her crude language.

The other four men walked up at that precise moment and their identical dumbfounded faces just made Jon laugh harder. Daenerys smiled innocently and said, “If I’m spending the day with northern barbarians, I might as well talk like them.”

She dragged Jon’s arm back towards their scooter. “Let’s go. Hurry up. I want to see more. I want to see everything today.”

Still laughing, Jon said, “Anyone ever tell you that you’re bossy?”

“I prefer the term assertive.”

Jon didn’t know if the rest of them were catching up, and he didn’t care. He climbed on and started the machine.

Dany didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around him this time.

The rest had caught up to them, with Sam and Edd driving in front of them, Sam ready with the camera. Jon drove and pointed out sights to Daenerys, causing her to look away so that Sam could catch pictures of the princess touring Braavos.

Jon decided to take her to Moonsinger Lane next, but as he wasn’t sure where it was, he had to stop and ask for directions. He didn’t notice the gleam of mischief in Dany’s eyes as he got off the scooter though.

He might have just decided it would be okay for them to be lost if he had.

 

* * *

 

While his back was turned, Daenerys scooted forward. He’d done enough driving for the day, she’d decided. She had been watching him and it didn’t look too hard. She started up the bike, glancing back to see if Jon had noticed.

His back was still turned, as he tried to talk to some Braavosi in his broken Valyrian. She was surprised he hadn’t asked her to translate, but she suspected he might be trying to keep their destinations for the day a surprise.

She revived up the bike and was surprised by the jolt forward, she yelled in delight as she took off. She wasn’t sure how to stop as she didn’t want to lose Jon.

Luckily she didn’t get far before Jon caught up to her, hopping on the bike behind her. “What are you doing, Dany? You still don’t know how to drive a scooter.”

“Watch me,” she said as she speed up with a squeal of delight. Jon grabbed on to her waist now, which Daenerys quite liked. Perhaps even a little too much.

Then again that was what today was about, right? A little fun and excitement.

“Dany, slow down a little bit.” Jon sounded worried.

Instead Daenerys sped up. He clutched her tightly. “Dany, slow down,” Jon said, firmer this time. His hands let go of her trying to grab the controls from under her hands.

The skin-to-skin contact felt nice, but his words annoyed her. “Let me take it.”

Was she a child? She could drive after all. This wasn’t that hard. “No. Let go. I can do it.”

Their fighting over the handlebars caused the scooter to wildly veer across the road. She nearly ran into another driver, who honked at her and to miss him, she wound up driving on the sidewalk.

“Dany, let me drive,” Jon’s voice was definitely worried now, as she drove between the tables of a sidewalk cafe.

“Live dangerously,” she repeated his words back to him. She hadn’t hit anything yet. What was he worried about?

She made her way, badly back onto the street, but she wasn’t quite sure how to handle roundabouts, which weren’t prevalent in Westeros. She got around it alright, she thought, but there were a few more honks of horns at her driving.

And there were now police bikes after them, sirens blaring.

“That’s a cop, Dany.” Jon said, frustrated now. She didn’t stop. Jon’s hand went over hers to handle the brake. As he brought them to a stop, pulling over, he gave her a side eye. “You’re insane. You know that, right?”

Daenerys shrugged. “Madness runs in my family.”

 

* * *

 

Jon had pictured today going a lot of ways, pictured many scenarios. This, winding up in a Braavos police station trying to talk his way out of not just a ticket but jail time for both him and the heir to the heir of the Iron Throne, was not one of them. He was grateful for his years on the Wall, which had taught him exactly how to talk to cops.

He wondered if flashing his press badge would get him anywhere.

 

* * *

 

Luckily the police officer spoke enough common tongue that Jon could handle the talking. Normally Daenerys preferred to do her own talking, but her interactions with law enforcement were limited to formal ones. Where she would give a speech and then walk down a line of uniformed officers, shaking their hands and thanking them for their service.

Jon, on the other hand, seemed very familiar with conversing with men in uniform. She wondered about what kind of trouble Jon had gotten into in his life to make him so good at this, as usually his talking skills were nothing special.

He put an arm around her, surprising her. His hand rested on her hip, in overly familiar way. Dany found she didn’t mind it. “Officers, you’ll have to forgive my wife. She gets overly excited. I probably should have drove, but well,” Jon looked at her and then shrugged. “She wanted to drive.”

Daenerys schooled her features. Where was he going with this? “Wife?” The officer looked down at his paperwork. “Did she not take your name?”

Jon shook his head. “We’re newlyweds, celebrating our honeymoon. She’s not used to her new name yet.”

The officer looked at Daenerys, who tried to look like a happy newlywed, looking upon her new husband with love. It was an easy task. He chuckled, “Word of warning, it takes about a year.”

Jon looked at Daenerys rather than the officer when he gave his response, “She’s stubborn. It’ll probably take her five.”

The officer chuckled again. “Why’d you pick Braavos for your honeymoon?”

This time Daenerys answered, wanting to play along. “He’d never been. I thought it would be a good chance to brush up on his Valyrian.”

“My Valyrian's fine.”

“Your accent is atrocious.”

He smirked at her. “You like my accent.” He’d played up his northern brogue.

The comment unsettled her because it was true. Had he noticed? Was she that transparent? Or was he just acting? She recovered quickly, “I may like it, but my friends don’t understand about half of what you say.”

“I don’t see the problem.”

The cop interrupted them. “That’s enough flirting you two.” He seemed both amused and annoyed by their antics.

“Officer, I can promise you we won’t leave our hotel room for the rest of our stay.” Jon winked at Daenerys to completely sell his story.

Daenerys didn’t have to fake the blush that crept into her cheeks. The officer pushed a piece of paper at them, “Sign this and then you’re free to go.”

Jon signed it quickly and took Daenerys arm. “Thank you,” he said with a nod of his head. They rushed out of there.

It was exhilarating and Daenerys felt a smile rush to her cheeks at the giddy feeling bubbling up inside of her. She tried not to notice Jon’s hand on her arm, but it was impossible not to. His bare hand against her bare skin.

It was a feeling she could get used to.

Still she couldn’t help but tease him as soon as the were out of the police station. “Newlyweds?” she questioned.

Jon explained, “I thought it would raise the least amount of questions.” He felt his pocket for cigarettes, but it looked like he decided against lighting one.

“Don’t look so nervous. I won’t hold you to it.”

“Thank you very much,”

“You don’t have to look too grateful.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

The four guys were waiting for them outside. Sam rushed over to them and the rest followed. “Were you arrested?”

“No,” Jon answered with a sigh.

Grenn walked up to Daenerys with a huge grin. He pointed at Jon. “You know, he’s usually the one keeping us out of trouble. One day with you and you almost get our Lord Commander arrested, you rebel.”

Pyp joined in. “I like you, Little Troublemaker. In fact that’s what I’m going to call you. Consider it your official Pypar nickname.” He leaned in. "All the coolest of kids have one."

Edd agreed with a nod. “Lord Commander and Little Troublemaker, I like it.”

“Lord Commander?” Daenerys asked Jon with a raised eyebrow.

Jon answered, “It’s an old nickname and a long story.” He guided her back to the scooter. “Come on, there actually was one place I wanted you to see.”

But before he took off, his head whipped around, as if just recognizing something about where they were at. He got off the bike. “Wait a minute, you should see this since we’re here.”

Jon held his hand out to her. Daenerys took it. “Where are we going?”

He smirked at her. “A place for liars like us.”

She smiled back, wondering where he was leading her, but she realized almost alarmingly that she would follow him almost anywhere. She tried to put the feeling out of her mind, after all today was just a vacation, she had a real life to get back to, but what did it matter? Just for one day. For one day, she just wanted a young woman, spending the day with a handsome young man.

Possibly falling for him.

She wasn’t doing that, she thought. She was growing to care for him, but it couldn’t be love, not after only one day.

Jon took her in front of a wolf’s face. It was carved from stone, intricately detailed and its jaws were open, the black hole it created deep enough to not see into it.

“The mouth of truth,” Jon explained. “The legend is that if you’re given to lying and put your hand in there, it’ll be bitten off.”

Daenerys’ face scrunched up. “Oh, what a horrid idea.”

Jon held a hand out in invitation. “Let’s see you do it.”

Daenerys had always considered herself brave, but she felt nervous at the thought of sticking her hand into that wolf’s mouth. Was it because she was lying to Jon, not telling him who she really was? Or maybe she was just a coward.

No, she thought. Viserys had been a coward. Rhaegar had been brave, and everyone always said that she was far more like her oldest brother.

She held out her hand, bringing it closer and closer to the mouth. It was shaking. She looked up at Jon, whose eyes were challenging her. She stiffened her spine and steadied her hand, she was blood of the dragon.

The fingertips of her hand went into the mouth, past the teeth, but she pulled it back out with a nervous giggle. She challenged him to do better, “Let’s see you do it.”

Daenerys felt less childish at the nervous look that crossed Jon’s face. He swallowed and then answered with a shaky smile, “Sure.”

He stepped up and placed his hand in the mouth, his fingertips brushing past the teeth. He pushed his hand further than hers had gone in, until it was completely gone. Daenerys took a deep breath and they exchanged goofy smiles.

Then his eyes widened and he yelled out in pain. Daenerys screamed too and jumped to pull his hand out. He pulled out with a struggle, and he showed her the stump where his right hand had been.

Daenerys’ hands went to her mouth in shocked horror.

Then he extended his fingers, pushing his sleeve back down and holding out his perfectly fine hand for a shake. “Hello,” he greeted her.

She smacked him on the chest. “You beast! It was perfectly alright.” She fell into him slightly, but his arms came around to catch her.

Daenerys enjoyed the comfort she found in his arms. He was stronger than he looked, this Jon Snow. She pulled a bit and looked up at him.

He was so close. If she went on her tiptoes, she could kiss him.

He was still laughing. “I’m sorry. It’s just a joke.”

She stepped back, remembering herself but smiling again. “Oh, you never hurt your hand.” She took his right hand to look at it.

It actually wasn’t perfectly fine, the palm was scarred. Jon explained, “I touch a red-hot lantern once.” He looked at her again. “I’m sorry. You okay?”

“Yes,” Daenerys exhaled, her fear and anger gone as quickly as they had come.

Jon took her hand into his scarred one, “Alright. Let’s go.” Jon looked at his friends, standing in the back, as if noticing there were there for the first time. He cleared his throat, “You gents coming with or is this one a little too wild for you?” His head had inclined towards Daenerys.

She lightly smacked him again, but she guessed her still present smile took most of the sting out of it.

 

* * *

 

Jon guided the scooter to a gentle stop. Part of him wanted to drive forever, to feel Dany’s hands gripping his chest. He wondered if she could feel the scars on his chest through his shirt and jacket.

He hoped not. It would be a lot to explain.

The guys pulled up behind them and Jon was torn between wishing they were gone and glad they had followed. Jon hadn’t even thought of a picture when he took Dany to the mouth of truth. He just thought she would enjoy it. He knew he’d enjoy scaring her.

Jon kept forgetting about the story, only focusing on her and making her happy. He loved to see her smile.

He watched her eyes soften as she looked at Moonsinger Lane. The name was a reference to the Moonsingers, priestesses of the Jogos Nhai. Moonsingers were among the slaves that fled bondage under their Valyrian masters and led the way to the place where Braavos was founded.

Jon hadn’t read the entirety of the brief on the princess, obviously, but he had read about her interest in stopping modern day slavery and sex trafficking. He thought she might appreciate looking at a monument to ending such evils.

Dany walked up to the small altar dedicated to the priestesses, a reverence on her face. Jon’s eyes softened at the sight of her awe. “What is this place?” she asked him.

Jon explained who the altar was dedicated to and how Braavos was founded by freed Valyrian slaves.  

It made her sad and only then did he realize that she was blood of Valyria. She probably didn’t want to hear about her ancestors the slave owners.

Her eyes swept over the beauty of the altar. “If I could go back in time, I would have set every single one of them free. No man, woman or child should be a slave.” She said it with such determination, Jon didn’t doubt her.

Daenerys Targaryen would have done it, by the force of her nature she would have freed slaves and toppled cities. While she stood in awe of those who’d came before them here, Jon was awed by her. She was the most amazing woman, the most amazing person he’d ever met.

Jon stared at her before shaking himself out of it. Stupid, princesses don’t fall for bastards like you. She was so out of his league, she might as well be on the moon.

She walked past the altar to the tablets lining the wall beside it. “What do these inscriptions mean?”

“They’re wishes,” Jon said. “Wishes that are granted. People come, make their wish and if it comes true, they return and put up a plaque.”

“Lovely.” Daenerys nodded, moving in for a closer look. Jon saw out of the side of his sight, Sam capturing the moment with his hidden camera. Jon ignored him and the guilt eating away inside of him. Maybe he should have lost his hand.

He stood next to Daenerys who was staring at the wall of granted wishes with such longing in her eyes. Jon asked, “Make a wish?”

Daenerys blinked, clearly having had thought of her wish.

“Care to share with the class?” Jon could feel the other four men staring at him.

“No,” She shook her head. “Anyway, the chances of it being granted are very slight.”

Jon nodded. He understood. Wishing for the impossible, he understood that only too well.

Grenn walked up, “Well, what now?”

Jon was surprised when Daenerys eyes lit up with an idea, “I’ve heard of a wonderful place for dancing on a boat.”

Jon nodded, remembering. It happened every Friday night. He’d never been, as Grenn would mock, he was far too busy brooding to have any fun on a Friday night. “Yes, it’s down by the left foot of the Titan.”

Daenerys turned to him. “Yes. Couldn’t we go there tonight?”

Jon remembered the lie he’d told in the police station, about being a young husband who couldn’t deny his pretty wife anything. It had been true enough. Looking down at her big, violet eyes, he couldn’t say no. “As you wish.”

The bright smile she gave him was worth it. Her head went back to looking at the tablets on the wall.  “Then at midnight, I’ll turn into a pumpkin and drive away in my glass slipper.”

“And that’ll be the end of the fairy tale,” Jon finished. He looked over at the guys. “Well, the guys have to go now.”

“Do we?” Grenn asked.

“Yep,” Jon said. “They have other plans today.”

Sam looked at Jon, worried. “Sure, we do.” He began the thankless task of rounding the other three up and getting them to leave.

Grenn added, “But we’ll see you on the boat tonight.”

Pyp called out, “See you later, Little Troublemaker.”

Daenerys looked at Jon. “Your friends are a strange crew.”

He smiled, “You have no idea.” He heard a singer from one of the boats that traveled down the canals. Despite his better judgement trying to remind him that such a thing would be too romantic for a bastard and princess to share, he asked, “Want to return the scooter and catch a boat ride through the canals of Braavos with me?”

She smiled. “Yes, Jon. I’d love that.”

 

* * *

 

Barristan Selmy could not believe what he was hearing. “Newlywed?”

The police officer nodded. “The pretty brunette with the violet eyes. Yes, I wouldn’t forget that eye color. She was in here earlier with her husband. They were a good looking couple.”

Barristan’s eyes fleeted over to Jorah whose face was an odd shade of both green and red. He gave the man a tight smile and thanked him for his help as he led his fellow kingsguard out.

“She’s married!” Jorah’s temper and disgust couldn’t be contained. “Some bastard has kidnapped and forced her into a marriage.”

“We don’t know that, and I doubt Daenerys would do anything as reckless as marry some stranger.”

“She can be impulsive,” Jorah pointed out.

“Yes, but she isn’t stupid. She would never do anything to jeopardize her throne. It’s likely just a story concocted to get them out of trouble. She might run off with a flirty, handsome young man for day, but she wouldn’t do something so permanent.”

Jorah bit his lip before he pointed at the door. “We should go back in there and tell them who we really are. Then he’d let us see the name of this asshole who kidnapped our princess.”

Barristan wasn’t convinced their princess was kidnapped. From the information they’d found out so far, it seemed like Daenerys was just taking a day off, possibly with a comely man her own age. The kingsguard didn’t see any real harm in letting the young woman have a day off, but his duty was to find her and he would to that to the best of his ability.

But he knew that Jorah wasn’t likely to see reason where Daenerys was concerned, especially if she was spending the day with a handsome stranger. He replied calmly, “Lord Tyrion doesn’t want this to turn into a public scandal. We should return to the embassy. We know where they’re going to be tonight.”

Jorah nodded and began to walk to their car. “I’m going to kill that man when I get my hands on him. Or at the very least get a few good licks in."

Barristan looked at his overemotional colleague. “From what the officer told us,” and what they knew of the spirited princess, “her majesty caused the trouble. The young man was just along for the ride.” He moved to take the driver’s side. “I’ll drive.”

Jorah didn’t look happy about it, but he relented without a fight. Content to stew over the missing princess and her mystery man with his arms folded in the passenger seat.

Barristan sighed as he clicked his seat belt on. He was not looking forward to their confrontation tonight. He had little hope it would go smoothly.


	5. Lovers Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notice the rating change. That eventual smut has arrived. I thought about keeping it tame enough for a T, but then I pushed it just past that.
> 
> Those other things that have you all so worried are coming in the final chapters - the angst and the ending. Ah, the ending, did I change it? Did I keep it the same? Is it happy? Sad? Bittersweet? Is it one of those crazy endings that is a complete shift in tone that makes you shake your head and wonder, “What the fuck was that?” You’ll find out in two chapters; patience.

Daenerys brushed her fingers over the silky blue material. The dress was so lovely, so unlike anything else she owned or wore. She planned on wearing it tonight with her new shoes. It would probably be her only opportunity to wear it in public.

She wondered what Jon would think of it.

She tried not to wonder about that, it didn’t really matter what Jon thought. She wanted to not care about him, a temporary man in her life who she’d never see again tomorrow. There was no use in getting attached.

But part of her knew it was far too late now for sense to enter where her feelings for Jon Snow were concerned. She looked through his bathroom cabinets, trying to find something to tame her hair back into what it had been when she walked out of the salon. As enjoyable as their boat ride had been, the humidity did her no favors. 

She adjusted the robe she’d stolen from him, making sure she was covered before she poked her head out. “Jon, do you have a blow dryer or something to help me fix my hair?”

He shook his head. “Sorry. I’ve only got mousse and some hair gel.”

Daenerys rolled her eyes. “Of course. You have perfect hair naturally.” She walked out of the bathroom, tempted to walk over and touch his perfect hair. She was now insanely curious as to what it felt like. 

She leaned on the kitchen counter across from where he was sitting, the table separating them. She looked at him. Jon was letting his huge dog sit on him like he was a lap dog, which was humorous in of itself. But even more amusing was the fact that Jon’s outfit was black to his dog’s white, so she could clearly see the hair turning up everywhere.

Daenerys couldn’t judge too harshly though. Viserion, who possessed white long hair, was the cat who liked to snuggle with her the most though she actually wore white from time to time. Rhaegal was more interested in hunting, playing with his brother and watching her from afar than actually cuddling with her. Though she occasionally forced it on him when he walked over her while she was reading or typing. This always made her usually silent cat meow loudly as he squirmed to get away from her.

Drogon. Drogon liked to pretend he was completely above her and everything else. Usually literally, as he was the cat who liked to climb. Because of him, she’d insisted on a maze of carpeted pillars and shelves in her chambers to make her cats have the best possible home. She sometimes feared this might make people call her a crazy cat lady, but royalty were allowed a few eccentricities, right?

Drogon liked to leap on her when she wasn’t expecting it. Usually when she was sad and lonely, like he could sense her emotions. While Drogon didn’t allow anyone else to touch him, clawing at anyone who came near, he enjoyed cuddling with Daenerys when she was feeling down. It helped that she was usually at her lowest after official events, where her Targaryen black matched his fur. Even when she was in red, it at least coordinated.

Watching Jon now, it made Daenerys homesick. She had at least three weeks left in her tour. But even when she got home, who would be there but her cats? The only family she had left was her ailing father and her frail great-uncle. As close as she was to Missandei, Tyrion and the rest of them, they were advisors and bodyguards, none were her equals; she was so alone.  She had dreamed of love as a child, all those fairy tales with princesses finding their princes, but who could love a dragon?

“Dany,” Jon’s questioning voice brought her back to the present. Right, all of that reflection could wait for another time. This was a happy day. She placed that royal smile she’d perfected over the years on her face.

Jon didn’t look convinced by it, but he said nothing. “What are you thinking?”

Daenerys looked him over. “Is that what you’re wearing tonight?”

Jon was wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing all day. “Yeah,” he said.

She frowned and went to his closet. She was appalled by the lack of color in his wardrobe. “Do you have any clothing that’s not black?”

“It’s my color,” he responded. She glared at his smirk. 

“Don’t you want to get out of the clothes you’ve been wearing all day?”

“Dany, this may surprise you, but most days, I wear one outfit for the entire day. No changing required.”

Daenerys wondered if that was typical for a common person. It wasn’t for her. She often had to change for each event, she had outfits for every occasion. And every occasion got a proper outfit, no exceptions. She looked at what he was wearing. It was fine but it wouldn’t coordinate with her planned outfit. The black would be too dark a contrast. For some reason, that bothered her. 

He sighed. “Damn it. I might have a gray shirt.” He got up and dug through his hangers. 

That would go well with his eyes, Daenerys thought. “That would be acceptable.” She took his seat, Ghost resting his head in her lap to be scratched. “I’ll wait while you put it on.”

Jon looked at her oddly. He pointed back and forth between them. “We’re not actually married, Dany.” 

“Yes, but I won’t be seen with an ill-dressed husband, even if he’s fake.” 

Jon rolled his eyes but obeyed. He shut the bathroom door with a slam. Daenerys took his place in petting Ghost.

 

* * *

 

Jon sat in his new Daenerys-approved outfit. He felt like a new husband, bending to his wife’s wishes for no other reason than it would make her happy. He was a fool. He tried to remind himself of the money he’d get for this, but honestly, Daenerys’ smile was a better motivator.

He didn’t want to think too hard about that. 

He was now waiting on her to change. He checked his phone. They had time, but this felt like it was taking forever. Jon wanted to tell her to hurry up, but he needed her to stay in a good mood. For the story. That’s why he’d changed and why he was keeping Ghost on the floor now.

It had nothing to do with the sparkle her eyes got when he pleased her. Nothing at all.

“Jon…” His eyes lifted and he saw her, as if for the first time. She was still talking, but he didn’t hear her. His eyes were stuck on the figure she usually kept hidden now exposed by light blue silk. She looked gorgeous to the point where it took Jon’s breath away. 

He’d heard of people comparing love to a bolt of lightning, but Jon always thought it was bullshit. Love, real love, took time. You couldn’t love someone after less than 24 hours.

But this felt like love. He knew it must be lust combined with affection, but it felt like more. It felt deeper. It felt like love had struck him like a bolt of lightning.

“Jon,” her saying his name broke through the haze that had settled over him.

“Yes, I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

Jon was rethinking all the innocence he’d ascribed to her, as the smirk told him that she knew exactly what she was doing to him. Interesting, he thought, he doubted this was a side many got to see of the princess of Westeros. “I was asking if you’ve been to this dancing on the boat before since you knew about it.”

“No,” Jon answered, standing up. “I knew of it, but I’ve been too busy with work.”

Daenerys’ head cocked to the side. “That’s unfortunate. You’re young, you should be doing fun things.”

She wasn’t the first person to tell him something like this. “That’s not how life works.”

“No, it isn’t.” Before the melancholy could settle in, she asked, “But I was going to ask if they had food there?”

“They will have a bar there, but I doubt there will be much food. We’ll grab something on the way.”

She nodded, seeming satisfied. “Could we do fast food? I can’t remember the last time I’ve had something greasy and bad for me.”

Jon shook his head and took a few steps towards her. “Sure, though I’ll warn you now that fast food tends to taste best after a night out and drinking not before.”

“Speaking from experience?” she teased with a raised eyebrow.

Too much experience. Jon thought of all the times he’d gone out with Robb and Theon in Winterfell. Theon had a bad reputation and no one cared about Jon, but Robb had to be careful when they went out. He had something to lose as the Stark heir. Jon had gone out even more at the Wall, when there were no concerns about paparazzi, just about getting to work the next morning. He kept his answer simple, “Yes.”

Jon had moved so he was next to her now. Dany looked up at him, her violet eyes looking blue with the dress and the new hair. He knew who she was and she still fooled him in this moment. She was exceptionally beautiful like her, but she wasn’t the same royal princess he’d seen pictures of since childhood. Jon vaguely recalled a childhood crush on her. He pushed those memories away, remembering they didn’t have a happy ending once Theon found out.

Her fingers went over his shoulders, smoothing away invisible wrinkles. Her fingers lingered on him, tracing his muscle through his shirt. Gods, Jon thought, they were going dancing, he’d have her in his arms later tonight.

Jon’s eyes closed. They were so close, all he had to do was lean down and kiss her. It would be so easy. Instead he took a step back.

“We should get going,” he said.

“Yeah,” Dany agreed absently, her fingers still lingering on him.

Jon removed them from his body, but kept her hand his. As he guided them out of his flat and into the streets of Braavos.

 

* * *

 

Daenerys held Jon’s hand as they made their way down the dock into the boat. Jon gave her a quick smile as he helped her down. The sight of it made Daenerys’ stomach flip a bit. Her eyes drifted up to the titan whose shadow fell over the lit up boat.

At night, the titan looked completely different, still imposing but in a different way. Daenerys found she thought it more beautiful this way. Jon stopped when she did and her eyes came back to his and she smiled. He smiled back and they boarded the boat once Jon bought them tickets. 

The music was loud and the boat crowded. Daenerys felt a bit foolish, as she was still smiling, but who cared? This might be the best night of her life. It had already been the best day.

She looked again to the man who’d made it possible. Had she really only known him for a day? It felt like a lifetime, or a moment, either way she felt like she knew him completely and yet had been waiting for him all of her life. 

Daenerys tried to repress such thinking. She would be going back to real life tomorrow or possibly later tonight. She didn’t need to muck it all up with romance.

But he was handsome, she thought as he led her through the throngs of people. The song changed from a lively one to a slower one, and Daenerys was surprised to find Jon leading her out onto the dance floor.

She hadn’t pegged him for a dancer. But she wouldn’t complain, immediately falling into his open arms. She had wanted to dance with him tonight, badly, but she had pictured begging him to dance with her. She never would have guessed he’d lead them to the floor, no questions, no coercion necessary.

Her smile went wider as she looked up at him, his smile was still there. Satisfied by seeing him happy, Daenerys put her cheek to his, leaning her head on his chest. She breathed in his smell, he smelled of leather and pine and dog. 

She would miss him so much. The thought of letting him go...she couldn’t bare it.

So she wouldn’t think about it. Not here, not on this boat. This would be their boat. A break from the world to explore the happiness they could give each other. This wouldn’t be the real world.

The song ended and the people around them clapped for the band. Daenerys looked up into Jon’s dark eyes and saw something in them that scared her -- he looked at her like he was  falling in love.

She couldn’t bare to break his heart, so forgetting her manners for the first time in her life, she didn’t clap for the band. Instead she walked away from Jon to sit at one of the tables that lined the dance floor. She could feel him following her, a solid, protective presence that reminded her of her kingsguard. 

Not finding an empty table, she walked to one of the rails of the boat. She leaned against it, looking out over still water that twinkled for the hanging lights that decorated the ship.

Jon stood next to her, leaning on his forearms, his hands folded out in front of him.

Daenerys spoke first. “I’m surprised you know how to dance so well.”

“I’m surprised I know how to lead.” He chuckled. At her look of confusion, he explained, “My brother had to learn how to dance and before our sister was old enough, I got to be his partner. That’s how I learned.”

She pushed herself away from the railing. The band had started up again. This time she held her arms out for him. “Well, I don’t mind leading.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Jon stepped forward, taking her again. She tried to lead, but Jon took over naturally and they swayed to the music on the air.

Dany laughed. “How many siblings do you have?”

He hesitated before answering, “Five. Two sisters and three brothers.”

“Wow. Families aren’t usually that big nowadays.”

“Yeah, but I liked growing up in a big family. You got away with a lot.”

“I didn’t get away with anything in my family.”

“Tell me about them.”

Daenerys hesitated before telling him. “I had two older brothers. We all looked alike but they couldn’t have been more different in personalities and temperament.”

“Had?” Jon asked softly.

“They died. A few years ago.” She didn’t want to get into this.

“Are you okay with it?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“You’re never completely okay with it, I think. You just learn to live with it, the pain of it flaring up from time to time.”

He looked sympathetic. “I hope I never need to know that pain.”

“Me too.”

They stopped dancing, thought the music continued. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him, nor he hers. A thought crossed Dany’s mind and she had to ask, “We spent the whole day doing things I always wanted to do. Why?”

“It seemed like the thing to do.” Typical Jon to sidestep his own sweetness.

“I’ve never heard of anyone so kind.” Daenerys tried to keep the edge out of her voice, but she’d been raised in King’s Landing. Where nothing was free. No one did anything for anyone without some motive, some agenda. People only had your back for as long as it took to plunge in the knife.

“It wasn’t any trouble,” Jon ducked his head.

“Or completely unselfish.”

Jon would no longer meet her eyes. He looked to the bar. “Let’s get a drink.”

 

* * *

 

That entire conversation made Jon feel about two feet tall. He had to tell her the truth. The story didn’t matter anymore. He didn’t care about the money. He would find another way. He would never be able to print a word about her, not after today.

But the guys. Jon cursed himself for his foolishness. The guys were coming tonight. Even if Jon had a change of heart, he couldn’t force them not to print anything.

She was smiling at him again, and the sight of it made Jon’s stomach drop. He attempted to get the attention of the bartender as the man standing next to them smiled at Dany.

A man dressed garishly and with blue hair. To Jon’s surprise the man said to Dany, “Oh, there you are! I was looking for you a long time. I was beginning to think you’d stood me up.”

To Jon’s greater surprise, Dany smiled back at the man, laughing politely. She didn’t seem to know who he was. 

The man looked hurt for an instant. Then he reached out to touch a lock of Dany’s hair. Jon’s spine stiffened as he readied himself for a fight. He knew Dany wasn’t even his to protect, but he didn’t like watching another man touch her. The man said, “You should have let me dye it purple.”

She nodded, recognizing something in those words. With a smile she answered, “The brown will be bad enough, trust me.” 

She caught Jon’s eye and politely introduced him, “This is Jon Snow.”

Jon held out his hand. The man introduced himself, “Daario Naharis.” 

Jon nodded, but looked to Dany as he asked, “Old friends?”

“Yes. He cut my hair earlier today.” She explained, “He invited me here tonight.”

A bite of jealousy leapt up in Jon, but he repressed it viciously. He had no right to feel that way. She wasn’t his. He was lying to her. He had no right. Still, Jon held out his hand again, “What did you say the name was?”

It was an old reporter’s trick. It annoyed people to repeat their names, but it usually made for more honest answers. Some instinct of Jon’s told him that this man was hiding something. 

Perhaps it was a liar spotting another liar.

“Daario. Daario Naharis.”

“Daario Naharis.” Jon repeated the name. “I’m very glad to know you.” Jon lied.

“Me too.” Daario replied, clearly also lying.

A new song started up and Daario held a hand out to Daenerys. “My I enjoy the pleasure?” He said it in a smooth, confident way that reminded Jon of Robb’s easy manner with women. He could feel the jealousy within him grow, could feel the brooding moodiness take over his face, but he tried not to let it.

Daenerys’ eyes darted to his. “Do you mind?”

For some reason, it pleased Jon to be asked permission, even if she didn’t need it. “No, no. Go right ahead.”

She stepped forward to join Daario, who thanked Jon. Jon was slightly pleased to see the real smile Dany had been wearing all night replaced with a polite one. For a moment, Jon nearly did a double-take. She looked exactly like the princess when she looked cool like that, not the woman Dany he’d gotten to know so well today.

Jon watched them dance for a moment. There was nothing special about it. Just two people dancing. The look on Daenerys’ face was one Jon had seen a thousand times at formal Winterfell balls, bored but polite. It was a look every noblewoman perfected before reaching puberty.

He noticed Daario looking off to the side. Jon’s gaze followed his, there were two men there. They looked vaguely familiar, but Jon couldn’t place them. They seemed a little formally dressed though, both being in suits. 

Jon turned back to the bar to order his drinks. He was surprised when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Those for us, Snow?”

Of course they would show up when the drinks were poured. He ordered four additional drinks, handing his to Grenn. Pyp leaned against the bar, “Who’s Little Troublemaker dancing with?”

Jon could feel Sam’s eyes on him. He tried to keep his face and voice neutral. “Her barber. Cut her hair earlier, made a date for tonight.”

“The princess and the barber,” Edd said. Jon glared at him, not liking the tone. He could still feel Sam’s eyes on him though.

When the drinks arrived, most of the guys were thoroughly distracted, picking up their drinks and heading off in search of a table. But Sam stayed back. He bit his lip before asking, “Jon, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Sam.”

“I don’t think you are. The way you look at her…”

“She’s just a story, Sam. The story of a lifetime.” Jon refused to look at his friend when he said this. He also refused to look at her. He just looked at his drink.

Sam nodded. “Right.”

Jon slammed his drink before ordering a second. He then looked at Sam properly, for the first time. His friend looked worried for him. It was the same look after the incident that had made him leave the Night’s Watch in the first place, like he was worried Jon had lost his mind. “Do you have the camera? We should set up.”

Sam nodded, his chins wobbling. He looked at Jon one more time, placing a hand on his friend’s arm. “Jon, don’t break your own heart.”

Jon looked at Daenerys, her smiling, carefree beauty. It was far too late for that. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

Sam set up the camera as Jon blocked it from the princess’ view. The took a couple of quick shots before Sam hid the camera away again, hiding it behind his girth. The other men returned to point out their newfound table.

Dany saw the guys and smiled at them, giving them a polite wave. They toasted their drinks to her in response. Jon was just happy they hadn’t gone bounding over there and made a scene.

He didn’t know, the scene was coming.

 

* * *

 

Barristan had received the signal from Daario and had sent a message to the Unsullied guards who’d been waiting around the corner. They were to ambush the princess and bring her back to the embassy. 

Hopefully, she would come quietly and the whole thing could be done without a hitch.

Barristan knew Tyrion had his doubts. Before leaving this evening, the little man had took one look at him and his fellow Kingsguard and said, “I thought you were supposed to be dressed inconspicuously.”

“It’s the uniform,” Jorah had shrugged. 

“I need a drink,” the advisor said before fetching himself a glass of wine.

Truth be told, Barristan shared the other man’s doubts. He thought now that they’d seen the princess was alive and well, they should let her return on her own time. He had no doubt that she would when she was ready. Princess Daenerys knew her duty and she followed it well. He didn’t doubt she’d be back after her day off. He thought it might be good for her to blow off a little steam and fit some relaxation and fun into her busy schedule.

But it wasn’t Barristan Selmy’s call. So he followed his orders and met the cars carrying Grey Worm and his men. If Jorah and him looked conspicuous, Grey Worm and his men might as well have carried flashing neon signs, “We’re soldiers. Ask us why we’re here, busting up a party for no discernible reason.” 

The line of them gathered together and met Jorah who had stayed waiting on the gangplank. They prepared to catch their princess and bring her back. 

 

* * *

 

Daenerys felt the same fatigue she had the night before, dancing with a man she had no interest in. But it was polite to dance with the person who’d invited you out. So she kept a polite smile on her face as her eyes kept darting back to Jon.

Jon who’d gone from happy and carefree to worried and sullen since the arrival of his friends. Daenerys found that strange. Shouldn’t friends make you happy?

It also bothered her that Daario’s eyes never stayed on her either. But every time she would look to where he was looking, he would swing her around once more. It was getting annoying. 

The song ended and she clapped. Then a man approached her who Daario nodded at before making his exit. Daenerys turned with a smile, expecting Jon.

Instead she was met with the unsmiling face of Jorah Mormont. He opened his arms for a dance and she stepped into them. She guessed he didn’t want to make a scene. She was not surprised that he was a good dancer. Jorah Mormont had been a northern lord before his life led him down a winding path that ended with him being one of her kingsguard. She let him lead, as her mind raced on how she could get away. 

There was no way Ser Mormont was alone, but she wasn’t ready to go back. Not yet. Just a few more hours, she thought desperately. She hadn’t even gotten a good night kiss. All the princesses in the fairy tales got a kiss from their princes before their tales ended.

She could tell by the cold, angry look on Jorah’s face that the last thing he wanted to hear was Daenerys’ desire to kiss Jon Snow.

“We were worried, your majesty. When you had suddenly left last night.”

Daenerys stiffened at the title. A whole day without being called formally addressed. It was amazing how little it took for her to get used to it. How liberating it was to be just Dany. 

She wasn’t ready to return to the real world. Not yet. “Thank you, Ser Jorah. As you can see, I’m quite fine. So you may leave now.”

His look grew even colder, if that was possible. “Where’s your husband?” he asked. 

Daenerys’ eyes widened. No. How much did they know. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

He grew angry now, his grip on her tightening, which caused Daenerys to pull away. But Jorah didn’t let go. He instructed, “You’ll dance quietly towards the entrance. There’s a car waiting.”

Despite the lie being terrible, Daenerys decided to pretend she didn’t know him. She looked nothing like herself, perhaps it might work. She was desperate. “No. No.”

“Your highness, please.”

“You’ve made a mistake.” Daenerys broke into Valyrian, insisting she didn’t speak a word of the Common Tongue. Jorah didn’t even loosen his grip. She switched back. “Let me go. Will you let me go?” Her eyes connected with Jon’s, who’d come over to see what was happening. She called out to him. “Jon. Let me go! Jon!”

Jon ran over, his friends at his heels. Though Sam held back. Jon pushed through the crowd, as Barristan joined Jorah in escorting her out, taking her other arm.

The crowd was beginning to look over at the commotion now. Daenerys tried to tug her way free, but the men’s grip was too strong. She remembered all the techniques she’d learned to escape a kidnapper’s hands, but she was loath to use such methods on the men who’d taught them to her in the first place. She didn’t want to hurt her men, she just wanted to get away from them. 

Jon grabbed the men, pulling Ser Barristan to the ground, and setting Daenerys free. As Grey Worm’s Unsullied swarmed in, Jon’s friends’ swarmed out, forcing those men to keep their distance. 

Jon took Daenerys hand, “Come on.” And he ran them both back onto the boat, Jorah followed. They ran into a dead end back on the boat though the crowd had cleared away to make room for the excitement. Daenerys hoped her disguise would work as she noticed several phones pointed in her direction.

Jon turned her around to run the other way, but that just led them to Jorah. Jon pushed Daenerys behind him and the two men fought.

Daenerys was surprised. She hadn’t expected Jon to be a fighter, but he was just as good as her bodyguard. Possibly better, being that Jon was younger and fit. Why was a photographer fighting so well?

Not content to sit and watch the fight, Daenerys walked over to where the band was. They had begun playing again, as if trying to distract everyone from the fighting and the cops that would surely be coming soon.

Cops. Daenerys doubted their luck would hold twice in one day. She and Jon had to get out of here. She grabbed an unused guitar and made her way back to where Jorah and Jon were fighting. 

Jon still appeared to be winning, but Barristan was back up and helping Jorah. Jon could handle one of the men, but not both at once. Jorah was bent over, catching his breath.

“Sorry, old bear,” she said as she brought the guitar down on Jorah’s head. She didn’t noticed the flash of light coming from the sidelines. 

Police sirens sounded as Jon knocked down Barriston again. He grabbed her hand. “Come on.” 

This time Jon led them away from the boat. Out of the corner of her eye, Daenerys saw police running onto the boat. She hoped everyone got out of it okay. Jon lead her through a tunnel where some canoes were stored. He slowed down as they reached the edge, making sure they’d truly lost the guards.

He ran right into another guard who suckerpunched him. Jon fell into the water with a splash. The guard grabbed Daenerys, but as she didn’t recognize him, she felt more comfortable fighting back. She kicked him and stomped his feet until he let her go with a gasp of pain. Then she followed Jon into the water, jumping in after him.

She stayed under the water for a moment until she heard the commotion die down. She surfaced only to find Jon looking around worriedly. She guessed he would have cried out her name, but didn’t want to alert the proper authorities to their presence. When he spotted her, she could see the immediate relief.

Daenerys nodded her head, indicating the other side of the river. Jon nodded in agreement and they both swam for the other shore. 

 

* * *

 

Jon was used to being cold, but cold and wet was a fairly unique experience for him. The furs he’d worn back home usually kept out the wet parts of snow. But he wasn’t back home. He was in Braavos in a nice button down, a vest and slacks. Not clothes meant to get wet in or keep out the cold.

He got out of the water and immediately reached out to help Daenerys. Growing up in King’s Landing he doubted she’d ever really been cold. Seeing her shivering, he immediately tucked her in under his arm.

He brought her in close, not caring about propriety, not with her shivering like that. Her breath was shaking too, even though she was laughing. Jon attempted to warm her up as they sat together on a stone wall. His wrapped around her as his hands rubbed her bare arms.

He tried not to notice how the now wet silk clung to the princess and left very little to the imagination. He kept his eyes on her face, wishing he’d listened to her and worn a coat. It would be extremely helpful to drape over her right now.

She didn’t seem to mind, not his hugging or her ruined dress. She continued to smile even as she shivered. She turned to look at him.

Jon felt his breath catch. “All right?” he asked her.

She smiled wider. “Fine. How are you?”

“Oh, fine.”

They both laughed. It almost sounded fake because of how loud it was, but Jon moved his head to touch hers. Cold and wet, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever been this happy before. “Say, you know, you were great back there.”

“You weren’t so bad yourself. Where did you learn to fight like that?”

Jon thought of his time in Winterfell, where it was still fashionable for nobles to know how to fight and then his time on the Wall, where it was a necessary skill. “A man needs his secrets.”

She let it drop. 

Jon felt something in him, like this moment was a defining one in his life and if he’d ever had courage, ever been brave, now was the time to take a chance.

So he leaned in and stole a kiss from the crown princess of Westeros.

As soon as he pulled away, he wanted to apologize. But she didn’t let him pull away, her hand tangling in his hair, as she kept him there, kissing him longer. 

He knew as soon as they broke the kiss, the story was dead. He could never write it now. But he found he didn’t care. He didn’t want it now. He just wanted her.

You can’t have her, his better sense reminded him. A princess and a barber is better than a princess and a bastard. He looked away from her, trying to think of something to say. “I--”

He never had been good with words. He pulled out his phone instead to call for a ride. But it’s ruined. He looked into his wallet and the bills he had left are soaked as well. Jon wasn’t sure how they were going to get back to his place.

He guessed that was presumptuous of him. Just because she clearly wasn’t ready to leave the party didn’t mean she would be coming back with him. Still he stood and held his hand to help her up. “Ready to go? Apparently we’ve got a walk ahead of us.”

She took it. Once she was standing, she immediately found herself up curled up next to him once again. If she was in his arms, Jon found he wouldn’t care if they were stuck walking all the back home. It would take hours from where they were, but who cared? She wouldn’t be with him forever. He knew that.

They didn’t get far before she spotted an empty boat in the canal with its driver clearly packing up for the night. Daenerys left Jon’s side, leaving him feeling cold and alone.

He felt ridiculous for feeling that way, but he followed her anyway as she called out to the man in her perfect Valyrian. 

Their conversation went too quickly for Jon’s broken Valyrian. But whatever she’d said, she’d charmed the man into giving them a ride home before ending his shift as she took his hand again and nodded for him to get into the boat.

Jon gaped like a fish, amazed by this woman. Before he could think too much about it, he kissed her again, saying,  “You really are amazing. You know that, right?”

She smiled at him. And he kissed her again, surer of himself now.

The man steering them home cleared his throat, breaking them apart. They got into the boat and cuddled together as they rowed back to his apartment.

 

* * *

 

Daenerys was in Jon’s robe again. Her dress was drying and she’d decided to clean her other clothes since she had to wait any way. She sat as his table, petting Ghost, as Jon made them a couple of drinks.

It was an excuse she knew, but she was willing to let it pass for another hour with Jon. It wasn’t midnight just yet, she justified to herself. Her fairy tale wasn’t over just yet.

Jon had changed into sweats, and while she usually preferred a man in more formal attire, she couldn’t help but notice the way his shorts hugged his ass, just so. He turned to hand her a drink, something warm and spice. She hummed in approval. “What is this?”

“It’s a northern specialty. Spiced wine.” Jon gave her a half-smirk, half smile that made her heart melt. He sat on the chair next to her, letting their knees touch under the table. 

Daenerys lifted her feet from the floor to his lap, which he allowed, rubbing her legs underneath his robe. She cradled the mug in her fingers, looking at him over the brim. “I like it. Who knew the North was hiding away something this good?”

She wasn’t talking about the wine. Jon either didn’t pick up on it or deliberately ignored what she was trying to say. “The North hides a lot of things.”

His eyes glanced over her, sitting in his chair, in his robe. He cleared his throat and said, “It suits you. You should always wear my clothes.”

“It seems I always do.”

Jon chuckled a bit at her joke. Daenerys wanted to pull him closer, wanted to straddle his lap and show him just how much she liked him.

But that wouldn’t be proper. She was still a princess. She couldn’t take a thing like that back. But she wanted to. By all the gods, she wanted him. She took a drink, hoping for the liquid courage she’d heard about to inspire her into action. 

“What do you think of Braavos?”

Daenerys thought about her time here. She thought about the scent of the lemon tree in Jon’s courtyard. She thought about the sight of the red door when she’d returned here tonight, how her heart had leapt at the sight of it, in a way it never did for the Red Keep or even Dragonstone. “I love it. It feels more like home than my actual home, you know?”

“Not really,” Jon said. “The North will always be my home, I think.” He looked at her “But I think a person can be home as much as a place, sometimes.”

Daenerys wasn’t sure if it was a line, but it was a good one if it was. She ducked behind her mug, trying to hid her blush. “You’ve been so kind to me. Thank you for today.” 

She wanted to say so much more to him, but she was afraid to let it turn into a good-bye. She wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. She just wanted one more hour with him. One more day. One more year. One more lifetime.

Daenerys took another drink, trying to calm herself down. It wasn’t as bad as all of that, she tried to rationalize. She couldn’t be in love with him, not after one day. She barely knew the man.

Still, words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them. “I want this day, this night to never end.”

“Me too,” Jon confessed back. His grip on her tightened, just a bit, as if he didn’t want to let her go. 

Daenerys pulled away. It was too much, too fast. She looked around his apartment desperate for some kind of task to occupy herself, keep herself busy. 

“I could cook, make something for you to say thank you.” Daenerys was actually an excellent cook. The combination of fire and math appealed to her, made sense to her. She was constantly learning new techniques, trying out recipes when she had the time, even watching cooking shows and YouTube clicks. In another life, she might have been a professional chef. 

Jon set down his mug, looking at her over his shoulder. “No kitchen. Nothing to cook.” Jon shrugged. “I always eat out.”

It made Daenerys sad to hear that, even as she felt some disappointment at not showing off skills she rarely got to use. “Do you like that?”

Jon took a drink of the spiced wine before replying. “Life isn’t always what one likes, is it?” 

“No, it isn’t.” They both take a drink. Daenerys placed her empty glass down and went to Jon’s bed. She plopped down enjoying the slight bounce of his mattress.

Jon got up and knelt on the bed, giving her space, but staying close to her. “Tired?” he asked.

“A little,” Daenerys said. She knew she shouldn’t be. Not after everything, but even with the mini-break, it had been a long exciting day.

Though it wasn’t over yet. She looked up at Jon who was staring at her with that unreadable look that was beginning to frustrate her to no end. “You’ve had quite a day,” he said.

“A wonderful day,” she said with a smile. She meant it. She could think of no better day in her life. Amazing how easily setting down your masks and being just yourself for a change could be so freeing, so uplifting. Daenerys glanced at her empty glass, sitting on Jon’s table and she asked, “May I have a little more wine, please?”

Jon stood abruptly. “Yes,” he said without looking at her. He poured her a little more then turned and brought it back to her. 

Daenerys noticed that his pupils were dilated and the sight made her catch her breath. When he handed her back her glass their fingers touched. The spark Dany felt made her nearly drop the glass, but she didn’t. She just moved to her knees as she took another drink, grateful for the warmth coursing through her, giving her the strength to do what she wanted to do next. 

But she wasn’t ready, not quite yet. “I’m sorry I couldn’t cook us some dinner.”

“Did you learn how in school?”

“I’m a good cook. I could earn my living at it.” Daenerys thought belatedly that it might be a strange thing to say, but she found she just wanted to say it, outloud to someone. She was raised a princess, but she could have been an excellent house wife. One of those super moms that always ended up hosting all of her children and their friends at her house by virtue of being the best cook and the coolest (if somewhat strict) mom.

Daenerys had always wanted a family of her own. Not just the Targaryen name, but a husband and children and a life so many took for granted. “I can sew, too, and clean a house and iron. I learned to do all those things. I just haven’t had the chance…” Daenerys cut herself off, looking away from Jon. It was such a childish, old-fashioned dream, and this was the first time she’d ever admitted it outloud. Tyrion’s more appropriately crafted response when she was asked was more along the lines of, “I’ve always been interested in fashion and I so admire the woman who juggle careers and families. I would like to think I could do it as well, but I was born lucky.”

Jon didn’t seem to mind, didn’t seem to judge her. She finished her confession. “...I just hadn’t had the the chance to do it for anyone.”

She finished the rest of her drink. She was afraid to look at him, afraid of what she’d find on his face, be it understanding or pity. 

His fingers gently touched her chin as he forced her to look at him. His voice was soft, barely audible, as the words almost seemed to pain him to get out, “Well, it looks like I’ll have to move and get myself a place with a kitchen.

Her eyes met his and she felt something within herself drop. The word fell out of her before she realized what she’d said, “Yes.”

His eyes darted to her lips. “I need to tell you…”

“Nothing. I know you’re not telling me something, Jon, but I don’t care.” She was probably keeping an even bigger piece of information from him, but she didn’t want to be a princess, not yet. “You have your secrets; I have mine.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he kept his mouth shut, nodding. He walked away for a moment, finishing his drink and setting it on his table. 

Daenerys walked over to him, swaying her hips. She could feel the courage in her, knew if she didn’t do this now she would never get another chance. She walked over to him, concealing any doubt, any fear, and stood before him.

They were both breathing hard.

“There’s one more thing, I’ve never done.” Dany’s fingers lingered over him. Not quite touching him, but still her nails traced down his arms, her palms skirting his chest and stomach. “Something I’ve always wanted to do, with the right person.” Their eyes met.

Daenerys hands stopped at the edge between his shirt and pants, and meaningfully, she let her finger dip under both sets of material.

“Dany, I…” Jon tried to stop her.

But she wouldn’t let him. She had come this far. She would not be stopped. “Trust me, Jon. I know what I want, and I usually get it.”

“I don’t doubt that.” He kissed her.

It wasn’t like their previous kisses, this one was a promise, a prelude to more. Daenerys desperately wanted more. She had always known the truth of sex. As a princess, her education had not allowed for fantasies of flowers and perfection for first times. She would marry who she needed to, she would produce heirs, if she was lucky, she would love him, like her future husband. But it wasn’t not the most important factor. 

There would be no foolish mistakes, not for a princess, yet here she was, making a bad decision with a handsome man she’d fallen hard for. This was exactly what she wasn’t supposed to do. Her Septa would be so disappointed in her.

But Lemore wasn’t here to chastise her, so Daenerys lost herself in the feeling of Jon’s lips. The brush of his beard against her smooth skin. The taste of his darting tongue. 

She memorized it all. And without realizing it, she let him back her to his bed. She hadn’t even realized that she’d moved until her knees felt the mattress behind her.

That contact made it all the more real for her. She felt a moment of panic, a moment of doubt.

Sensing it, Jon stopped, pulling back. His eyes studied hers, looking for permission or some hint of her no longer wanting to do this. But she did, so she pulled him back in by his shirt, nipping at his lips.

She wanted him, badly. She might regret it in the morning, but tonight was for her. She would take all he would offer her. 

Daenerys brought her hands to the edge of Jon’s shirt, pushing it up. Without thinking, he obeyed her command and removed his shirt. Daenerys didn’t even look at his now bared chest, opting to kiss him again as her hands explored the new skin.

Then she felt something odd, a jagged piece of flesh that felt stitched back together. Dany pulled back to look and she was horrified by what she had found.

Jon’s body was perfect, like a carved marble statue, but for the bright red marks slashing across his chest. The scars still looked fresh and angry though they must have been at least somewhat old or they would still hurt.

Who had hurt him? Daenerys felt her anger flare up, but it melted away as quickly as it had come at Jon’s look of embarrassment. He tried to cover his chest with his arms, but she didn’t let him. She would see all of him tonight, even the parts she or he might not want her to see. 

She touched the one across his heart lightly. Jon Snow was lucky to be alive. “What happened?” Daenerys whispered.

“I said some things people didn’t like.” Jon shifted, clearly not wanting to explain further.

But Daenerys had to know. “About what?”

“About the royal family. The Targaryens.” Daenerys’ hand stopped tracing his pain and she tried not to react. Who was Jon Snow to have said anything about his royal family? For anyone to have really cared what he’d said? “I said something bad things about Viserys.”

She began stroking the scars again. A lot of people had spoken publicly about Viserys, most of what had been said about her brother had been much nicer than what she could have said about him. She got more annoyed with the ones who criticized Rhaegar; he’d been a good man, even if he wasn’t perfect. It angered her when people like Robert Baratheon painted her late brother in the worst possible light to suit their own agenda. If half the rumors she had heard about that man were true, he had no room to talk where Rhaegar’s sins were concerned. “And you were stabbed for it?”

“Some loyalists are really loyal.”

Daenerys smiled a bit at his bad joke. How could he joke about something that clearly nearly killed him. She kissed each scar, as if apologizing on behalf of her family. 

He drew her away when she finished, his large hands grasping her arms tightly as his teeth and lips occupied her mouth. Then his forehead leaned against her as he said, “I’m not going to survive this, Dany.”

“Neither am I,” she confessed. “But it will be a beautiful death.”

Jon looked at her for a moment, before diving in once more. He took charge now, pushing her back into the bed, his hand diving beneath his robe, undoing the sash that had been keeping it together. He touched her bare flesh with reverence, as though she was made of delicately spun glass rather than flesh.

But she was neither. She was fire and blood. She wrapped her legs around his hips, forcing him to his back as she stripped the robe from her body. His eyes took in her naked body, drinking in like a starving man. He immediately latched onto a breast, sucking on one while caressing the other, before switching.

It felt wonderful, heavenly. Daenerys’ head fell back as she gasped in pleasure. Her fingers combed through Jon’s curls, tugging him back as she leaned down to capture his lips with her own.

The sweetness that had always been present in their kissing shifted to an animalistic hunger. Daenerys attempted to take off his pants, but she grew frustrated quickly, as she would have to stop grinding against him, have to break apart from him, to fully remove his shorts. It would be unbearable to move away from him for those seconds.

With his hands, Jon calmed her down and guided her to her back. He softened their kissing again, calming Dany. He whispered her name and she loved to hear the syllables pass his lips. 

His hands moved down her body and his lips followed. Daenerys closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensations he invoked in her. His tongue dipped into her belly button as he moved down the bed. He went lower.

He teased her, skipping the part of her that was throbbing for his attention to kiss her ankles instead. Daenerys let out a groan of frustration at being denied, but it made him move no faster. When Jon got to her center he pulled back a bit to look.

Daenerys looked down her body, ready to command him, but the hunger look in his eyes made speech flee from her as her breath caught. He looked up at her, his eyes two black pools with just a ring of grey left. He looked like a man possessed.

An apt description of him, Dany thought, as he dove in, his fingers keeping her folds apart as his tongue licked her from bottom to top. Jon then lapped from her opening, causing her to squirm and gasp. She simultaneously leaned her hips away as her hands kept his head clutched to her. 

Jon’s forearm pressed her hips down as he drank even deeper from her well. His other fingers had moved, joining his tongue at her entrance. He pumped first one finger in her, then a second joined it. When he removed his tongue to move his mouth up to latch onto her clit a third finger was inserted, stretching her delightfully.

The pleasure was too much and Daenerys thrashed and tried to escape though she wasn’t sure what instinct drove such a need within her. But Jon was strong and his grip on her tight. She had nowhere to go. So she was almost forced against her will to stay and let pleasure overwhelm her.

And it did. Oh, it did. Dany nearly screamed when her orgasm took her. At first she felt embarrassed, worried Jon’s neighbors might hear her, but then she remembered Melisandre and her nasty attitude. She hoped that bitch heard her. She hoped the red woman knew exactly what she was missing.

The thought didn’t stay long, as she drifted back down to earth and back to Jon. When she finally came back to herself, Jon’s face was clean and grinning. He must have broken away from her, gone to a bedside table, because he was now wearing a condom.

He looked at her, his head tilted and asked her, “Are you sure you want to do this, Dany?”

Daenerys laughed. “Only you would ask a woman that after giving her the best orgasm of her life.” How could he be this sweet and insecure? “Get over here and let me ride you, Jon Snow.” Daenerys held her arms out as she languidly moved to climb onto his lap.

Jon was eager to comply, shuffling onto the bed, his back replacing her against the pillows, his head resting against the headboard. Daenerys pumped him a few times to get a feel for him, before throwing one leg over his hip.

She paused before slamming herself down upon him, her fears coming back to her. She couldn't ask for her virtue back when they were done if she changed her mind later. There was no coming back from this, but she still had to leave him soon. She would not abandon her duty, not even for him.

But looking down at his doe eyes, she wanted to. Gods, how she wanted to run off with him. How she wanted to completely forget her real name and the identity she’d been born to fulfill because of that name. She wanted to live as Dany Stormborn, Braavos tourist and student, fake newlywed to Jon Snow. She wanted it so badly right now.

If all they had was tonight, Daenerys wouldn’t spend it doubting herself. She would squeeze every moment of pleasure she could from tonight.

She fell down upon him, causing them both to groan. Daenerys stilled for a moment, allowing her body a moment to adjust to his intrusion. Her forehead fell against his softly and her hand came up to cup his cheek. She was grateful to him for letting her lead.

He kissed her and she kissed him. She let the familiar dance play out for a long minute before finally moving her hips in a dance that was as old as time. Jon groaned, “Dany.” His hands reached for her hips, squeezing them almost painfully.

She lost herself in the motions, the pleasure and the rhythm.

Daenerys lost herself and found herself in her lover’s arms that night. It wasn’t until after collapsing after her second orgasm, her tiredness from the long, eventful day catching up to her as her eyes drifted shut and Jon kissed her shoulder as he left to dispose of the now used condom that she thought the three most damning words she’d ever thought before in her life.

I love you.

 

* * *

 

“So not only did you make such a ruckus as to ensure this is already all over the internet. You let the princess get away?”

“She’s hardly recognizable,” Jorah tried to justify what had happened, after Tyrion had been so kind as to bail him and the rest of them out of jail. When Tyrion was the responsible one in a royal party, it was officially a disaster. 

He yelled, “That’s not the point!”

Tyrion’s hand went up to massage his head, he could feel the incoming migraine. 

He had to face facts. He would have to call the king.

He dreaded the thought. Since he’d told Jaime, his brother had been calling every hour for updates. Tyrion was pretty sure the only reason he hadn’t heard from his brother since telling him about the plan to secure the princess on the boat tonight was because his brother had ignored his request and was on a plane to Essos to fetch the young woman himself. 

Tyrion took a long drink from his wine goblet. He was debating the pros and cons of getting truly shit-faced. On the one hand, he desperately needed it. On the other, he needed to be in his best form if Daenerys came back or if there were any additional developments.

He dismissed the guards with a wave of his hand. When he was alone, he finished his wine. He walked over to the side table to pour himself another glass. He still hadn’t decided on how drunk he wanted to get, but tipsy might be a good compromise.

He sat down with his full glass, picking up his tablet once more to torture himself once more with the pictures of the night. No one had yet recognized the princess yet, but it was only a matter of time.

Tyrion had to hand it to the princess, she appeared to be having a good time. He even broke into a tiny grin at the sight of Daenerys breaking a guitar over Jorah’s thick skull. She was quite a character, his future queen. 

He looked more closely at the picture this time, focusing on her fake husband this time. Tyrion had expected him to look like a Braavos man, something like the Daario character, dashing and exotic. But no, this man didn’t look like he was a native, he actually looked like a northerner.

Tyrion squinted and looked closer, before remembering he was on a table and zoomed in on the picture. The man she had spent the day with didn’t just look like a northerner in general. He looked like one specific northerner Tyrion knew. One he hadn’t talked to or seen in years, but it still looked like him.

No, it couldn’t be. What would he be doing here?

But as surely as it was Daenerys in those pictures, it was him. Jon Snow. tyrion had met him years ago, when Jon was just a boy in Winterfell. He was a man now, but that was definitely him.

Westeros citizens, even ones living in Essos, had to file their current address. One phone call and Tyrion would know where Jon Snow lived. Would know for sure if he was right. But it made sense. The princess would be more trusting of an expat then a random Braavos person. Targaryens had always had a bit of weakness for northerners. The more Tyrion thought on it, the more he liked his theory.

Missandei walked in, presumably to comfort him, but Tyrion didn’t let her get a word in. 

He said, “I know where she is.”


	6. Back Into a Pumpkin

Daenerys wasn’t sure she had ever been happier. But oh, will she get a scolding for this. More than that. She spent the night with a man. She’d slept with a man. A crown princess couldn’t have a one night stand.

But she didn’t care. It had been a wonderful night. She looked up at Jon who was still sleeping. She got out of his bed and went to check the time on his phone, which he’d placed in rice earlier.

How could a grown man not own a clock?

She looked at his phone, there was a Westerosi announcement from a newspaper app he had installed, “No word about the princess or her illness. Her people worry it may be serious. They’ve lost the two princes, will Daenerys be next?” Daenerys put the phone down.

It was long past midnight. Time for her carriage to turn back into a pumpkin. She could feel the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, but she took a deep breath, refusing to let them fall. It was time to return to reality. The break had been nice but her duty called.

She turned to look at Jon. Gods, she wished she hadn’t lied to him. She wished she could bring him back into her life. But a crown princess didn’t marry a commoner.

Maybe if Rhaegar or Viserys had lived, no one would care, but she would take her father’s throne. As such, she was expected to marry someone of her station. She was expected to conform to old traditions that seemed silly in the modern world.

He was so pretty. She brushed tears away. No. She was Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. She did not pine over some man. She steeled herself, remembering her proud family history. The great men and women who came before, who faced far more difficult tasks and overcame them.

When she looked at Jon again, his eyes were open. The grey depths took her aback and for a moment all the longing and selfish desire came back to her. But she didn’t let it stay. She watched as Jon sat up, the blanket falling from his chest. He seemed to know from her look what she would say.

“I have to go now.”

He nodded, understanding. He threw his legs over the edge of the bed, his feet now on the floor, blankets gathered at his lap to protect his modesty. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

“No, please. Nothing.”

“Daenerys…”

He knew her name. Her real name. Daenerys’ heart stopped. “You knew. You knew this whole time?” She tried to stop it, but her voice broke on the question.

“Not the whole time. Just since I got back this morning.”

What game was he playing? How many times had she been told not to trust anyone and she’d stupidly...Oh gods, what had she done.

“Dany, I…”

“Are you going to go to the press?” Daenerys felt numb now, her voice hardened.

“I am the press,” Jon said.

Daenerys felt her heart drop. Gods, it was even worse than she thought. Jon quickly added, “I’m not going to write anything...about you. That’s not what this...I mean...fuck!” Jon’s hands ran through his wild curls.

Daenerys stood, spine straight. Her hands folded, she looked every bit the trained princess she was. All that was missing was the crown. “I must go now. It’s past midnight, and I have a duty to my people.” She took a step closer to Jon, whose face was buried in his hands. She lifted it, tucking her fingers under his chin so he looked at her properly. “Just as you have a duty, write the story, Jon.”

“No,” his response was immediate. “It was a stupid idea in the first place, I just want…I wish I could redo the day.”

“I don’t. It was a good day, Jon Snow. If this was the price I must pay for it, I will, gladly.”

He reached for her hand, but she stepped back and turned for the door. She was startled by the knock that came from it. Jon leapt up. Daenerys’ head turned away from him, and Jon swept up pants from the floor. “Just wait a moment,” he told Daenerys even as he opened the door, presumably to tell off the person on the other side.

But Tyrion stepped through to the surprise of them both.

 

* * *

 

Jon had thought it would be Melisandre on the other side; he’d been ready to tell her to fuck off once and for all, damn her cheap rent. But his eyes met nothing, until a movement caught his eyes below.

Tyrion was here. Tyrion Lannister. Why was he here?

The short man’s eyes looked him up and down, making Jon too aware of how little he was wearing, and he asked, “Jon Snow, what are you doing here?” Tyrion’s eyebrow lifted. “And where are your clothes?”

Jon could tell that Daenerys was confused. Probably wondering how Tyrion knew him. “This is my apartment. The better question is what are you doing here, Lord Lannister?”

Daenerys was staring at him like he was a stranger. It made Jon feel terrible. She knew him, he wanted to tell her, better than most, even if they’d only had a day together.

“Last time I saw you, you were freezing your balls off up on the Wall. What happened?”

He refused to look at Daenerys now, knowing she would only have more questions with that information. “I came to Braavos to get warm.”

Daenerys soft voice spoke up, “Who are you?”

Jon’s eyes met hers and his heart broke at the mistrust in her violet depths. One perfect day, he realized. That’s all they would ever have, that was all they would ever get. She would marry some prince or lord and what would he do?

Who could ever take her place?

He pushed such emotion aside. Dany didn’t need to see his heart break, it would only hurt her. Hurt her more.

Tyrion turned to the princess, “Your highness, it’s time to go now.”

Daenerys turned to him, he could see her swallowing back her emotion and it hurt him to see it. Jon had watched his sister Arya learn this trick, putting aside her opinionated, spirited self and hiding it beneath a wall of formality when the situation dictated it. He hadn’t liked it on his sister. He hated to see it on Daenerys even more.

She said, “Yes, Lord Tyrion. You are dismissed. Wait in the car. I will join you shortly.”

Tyrion’s face soured. “Your majesty, I don’t think that wise.”

Daenerys turned an angry gaze to her advisor. “You mistake me, Lord Tyrion. That was not a request. It was an order.”

Jon had never heard that tone in Dany’s voice, that authoritative sharpness that compelled a person into obeying. The voice of a royal. Tyrion gave his princess a little bow before leaving them.

Alone now, Jon watched the dragon princess melt away and saw the sweet Dany he’d spent his day with. She gave him a sad smile, walking over to him. Jon wanted to reach out and kiss her one last time. He wanted to throw himself at her feet, either to beg for forgiveness or to worship her.

But he just stood there, letting her lead.

“My pumpkin is here.” She brushed back a lock of his hair. He leaned into her touch. “Thank you for the wonderful day, Jon Snow. I will cherish the memory always.”

“It was my pleasure, Dany.” He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “If you ever want to do it again…”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I am a loyal subject at your service, your majesty.” The words sounded hollow to Jon’s ears. He wanted to say so much more. He wanted to explain himself, wanted to beg her to stay with him, his pride be damned.

But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t break her heart anymore than he already had. He called up all the formal education he’d had and bowed at the waist the way he’d been taught, keeping his eyes down. When he stood again he saw her eyes had filled with tears though she tried to hide them.

“Goodbye, Jon.” Her voice broke on his name as she fled from his room.

He said to the emptiness she left behind, “Goodbye, Dany.”

 

* * *

 

The ride back made Daenerys feel numb. Tyrion was trying to tell her something, but she wasn’t listening. She kept thinking of that final look on Jon’s face. He had looked at her the way they all did, a bit subservient and awed. She’d missed the Jon she’d known all day. The one who looked at her like he actually saw her.

She wondered if he’d ever really existed. Or had she just dreamed him up? Wanted someone like that so badly, she projected it onto a stranger. Who was Jon Snow really?

But she doubted he was a good enough actor to fake the way the edges of his eyes crinkled when he laughed. She doubted his usual stoic nature had been crafted to entice her. She doubted he’d faked the nervous laugh he’d let escape after stealing that first kiss. She doubted that most of the things that had made her fall so hard for him had been constructed. She was fairly certain she had seen and loved the real Jon Snow.

She just wished for a better understanding of who he was. She desperately wanted a second day, one where neither of them were lying. A day spent together where they were fully themselves. Something Daenerys never got to be.

But then, she would have wanted a second day even if he hadn’t secretly been a journalist. She would have dreamed of sneaking him back with her, of him making her life bearbale. She would knew she would now constantly fantasize about running off with him, foregoing her throne and living with him away from the public eye.

That’s all it could ever be, a wild fantasy.

The car stopped and Daenerys got out. She  walked through the halls of the embassy as if in a daze. Tyrion reviewed her schedule with her. They were making up appointments. Her last day in Braavos would be her busiest.

She saw the nods of deference men like Barristan, Jorah and Grey Worm gave her as she passed them. Daenerys hated slipping back into the role of princess, but she’d been born to do it, so she steeled herself to put away Dany and become Daenerys once more.

She already missed the freedom she’d had for one day. One glorious day.

Missandei joined them, taking her princess’ hand. She looked more sympathetic, but Daenerys couldn’t bare that look either. It felt like pity. She had nothing to be pitied for, she was a princess. A million girls would love to be her.

They entered her private chambers, which felt like a prison to her. She could feel the walls close in, but she kept her face blank. She would live through this. Daenerys would endure this all with the grace and composure expected of a member of the royal family.

Let her heart break, her face would betray nothing of her true feelings. She’d been trained for this since birth. She was a little surprised to find Jaime Lannister waiting for her. Her eyes shot to Tyrion who looked just as unsettled to see his brother there.

Jaime gave her his dashing smile, walking up to take and kiss her hand. “Your royal highness,” he said.

Daenerys looked to Tyrion again, whose sour look probably matched her own. She pushed it away, allowing her polite smile from her formal training to take over. “Ser Lannister, I was not aware you’d be joining us on this journey.”

“Yes, it was unplanned, but well, circumstances being…” Ser Jaime sighed. He hadn’t his brother’s skills in word play. “You’ve been missing 24 hours, your royal highness. Surely you can’t be surprised that others would be sent for? That there would be worry and a response from your father, the king. Where have you been?”

Daenerys looked to Tyrion again, unsure what he’d told his brother. Tyrion answered on her behalf, “I’m afraid her majesty does not remember.” He looked to her, silently telling her to play along with the lie, which should protect her. Daenerys wanted to hug her friend in gratitude for this small mercy. “Her mind is a complete blank.”

“Blank,” Jaime’s eyebrow rose. He looked to Daenerys. “24 hours. They cannot all be blank.”

“They are not,” she replied coolly.

Jaime’s frustration did not abate. “What explanation am I to offer His Majesty?”

“The same you told everyone else, I was ill.” Daenerys said, walking to the window, looking out into the world she’d lived in for a day. “I was indisposed. I am better.”

She was not better. Already Daenerys longed for Jon, wished he was here. How much greyer her life seemed now that she’d had a burst of color in it.

Jaime shook his head, she could see his incredulity in the window’s reflection. “I have to tell him something, my duty...”

“My lord, I trust you will not find it necessary to use that word again.” Daenerys turned, every inch the dragon princess she knew some called her behind her back. A fierce bitch of a woman. “Were I not completely aware of my duty to my family and my country, I would not have returned here tonight, or indeed, ever again. Now as I am fully aware we have a full schedule tomorrow.” She turned away once more. “You have my permission to withdraw.”

Jaime bowed and left, Tyrion followed after him reluctantly. Only Missandei stayed behind, she offered her princess a glass of milk, but Daenerys refused. She walked over and gave Daenerys a hug, which she accepted. It was a small comfort, but a much needed one.

Daenerys could feel the tears wanting to burst out, could feel the well of emotions pressing against the damn she kept them behind. She refused to let even Missandei see her weakness.

“That will be all, thank you.” She dismissed.

Missandei nodded, her sad eyes showing her understanding. She curtsied and closed the door behind her.

Alone, Daenerys wandered around her chambers for a bit. She found her phone where she had left it the previous evening, she did a quick scroll through it, before setting it down again.

She should have at least gotten his number, but no, it would have been too tempting. It had been less than an hour ago and she was already desperately missing him.

Daenerys wished she could have taken something of his, something to remember him by. She knew she should be madder at him for the deception, but she’d lied too. Maybe not as much, but did that really matter? As far as she’d known, he’d been a sweet man who she was planning on using and leaving, never to tell him who she really was. It might have been better than what he did, but not by much.

And her heart didn’t care what her mind thought, it cried out for the man who’d made her happy. So happy in such a small space of time.

Feeling like a masochist, Daenerys googled the article, she presumed, he’d written about her family. The one he’d nearly died for.

She found that it turned out he’d written several articles about her family during his tenure at the Night’s Watch. The royal family had a complete subscription to all of the Westeros papers, so she opened all of the articles.

She read the article on Viserys, which she thought was fair criticism. It described one of Viserys’ parties in such vivid detail, Daenerys knew he must have snuck into one. So he had never been above lying for a story, she thought. He’d criticized her brother for wasting taxpayer money on frivolities for himself, pointing out the prince’s other extravagant expenses.

Daenerys had remembered when all this had happened. She had never bothered to learn who had wrote the article, just got to listen to Viserys complain to her about the strict budget Tywin Lannister had put him on as a result of the backlash.

Daenerys remembered thinking that it had been the right thing to do, remembered being grateful to the man who’d exposed her brother, if just a bit. Had that man been Jon? Life was strange.

The next two were just reports on events, a visit her father made North and an announcement of centennial celebration to take place across all Seven Kingdoms. Neither piece was special.

Then she read the opinion piece he’d written on Rhaegar, in honor of the tenth anniversary of his death, which made her cry. Who knew Jon could be such a Targaryen fanboy? He’d gushed about Rhaegar being a childhood hero of his despite his reputation in the North being tainted by an affair with Lyanna Stark when they’d both been teenagers. Nothing had come of it, as her brother had married Elia Martell and Lyanna had stayed single, but Rhaegar been criticized for sullying Lyanna’s good name and reputation as well as breaking up her engagement to Robert Baratheon.

Jon had argued that Lyanna Stark didn’t need to be protected from anyone, even a prince. Daenerys remembered meeting the outgoing and fiercely independent woman who’d died a few years ago after a long battle with cancer. He’d pointed to Rhaegar’s service in the military after the affair, his demonstrated acts of valor during his time in the army and the reforms he’d helped institute in Westeros as a prince while their father had been indisposed due to his mental health.

Jon had called Rhaegar his favorite Targaryen and said that the country should still mourn that they had never gotten the great king he surely would have been if he hadn’t died so young.

She wondered if her brother was still Jon’s favorite Targaryen.

Then Daenerys looked up the poem she’d insisted was Keats, and the internet answered that it was in fact Shelley who penned it. Damn him for being right. She read through it, and by the last line, tears tracked down her cheeks: _When they love but live no more_.

_When they love but live no more._

As a royal, she knew that she had to sacrifice much for the good of her people. It was the great burden of all royalty. She was usually perfectly willing to give it all away, her life, her time, her person, as it was all taken for the good of her country and her people.

But him too? It was too much to lose him. Even if he was just a fantasy. Her silent tears turned to sobs, as her heart ached for something that had never really been and could never be.

 

* * *

 

Jon sat on the floor in his empty apartment. He remembered when he first got here, how lonely it felt. Jon had grown up in a big family. It was unheard of to get time to yourself. Real alone time. Then he’d moved to the Wall, where alone time was still a rare thing.

It was even emptier now. He thought he could still smell her perfume in the air.

One day, 24 hours. How was it possible? How could his life change so quickly? He wanted to chastise himself, he barely knew her. You can’t fall in love that quickly. It takes time.

But the heartbreak was real. The pain he felt couldn't be ignored. How had she done this?

He looked down and saw the angry red welts on his chest. The sight only brought him more distress.

Jon hadn’t told her the full truth about his scars. It had been a Targaryen loyalist who’d done it. It had been over an article he’d written that criticized Viserys Targaryen.

His most famous article had been a piece that had been critical of the ruling royal family, specifically Viserys spending taxpayer money on lavish parties for himself. Jon had dragged her brother through the coals, using his own unique status as both a noble and an outsider to his best advantage. He had nothing to lose by writing the article, but also had been able to get into one of the royal parties using family connections.

He’d also written an article going against northern sentiment when he’d defended Cersei Lannister. The press had been dragging her through the mud when an affair of hers became public. Jon had pointed out that her husband Robert Baratheon had been fathering bastards for years all over the Seven Kingdoms and no one seemed to care about that. Robert Baratheon was just as bad as Viserys, despite his very public criticisms of the royal family, also spending taxpayer money on wild parties. Jon had been glad that his favorite (and only) aunt hadn’t married that man.

His father hadn’t liked the article since Robert, for all his faults, was still his best friend, but he’d told Jon, “You told the truth, son. I can’t fault you that. Nothing you said was false.”

But Robert Baratheon hated him for it. Anytime he saw Jon now, he had some barb ready.

Audiences had hated him for flip-flopping on his anti-Targaryen stance. It had gotten worse when his opinion piece on Rhaegar ran, which had been fueled by his grief over his Aunt Lyanna’s death and the stories she had told Jon when he was younger about the prince. Lyanna had been a mother to him when Catelyn just couldn't do it. Jon had never been for or against the royal family. He just didn’t like corruption. And there was no point in trying to make his readers happy, they were fickle creatures who hated to have any of their values challenged or their heroes questioned.

Alliser Thorne was a perfect example of such a man. He’d nearly killed Jon for writing a fucking article he didn’t like.

He’d been in the Wall during a jailbreak. He often wrote about interesting inmates, sometimes they were sympathetic pieces that told of a corrupt system riddled with prejudice, like the one that got Tormund freed, and sometimes they were sympathetic only to the victims of cruel, ruthless criminals, like the one about the rapist and murderer Ramsay Snow.

He had been interviewing the youngest inmate ever at the Wall -- Olly Snow, who’d killed his entire family. He’d been given a life sentence, which had caused all sorts of controversy due to his age. Speaking with him, Jon found he seemed like a nice enough boy. He reminded him of his own little brother, Rickon.

Then the alarm had sounded and Jon had been left alone in the room with the handcuffed inmate as the guard ran out to deal with whatever the alert was for. Alliser Thorne had come back in, an inmate Jon was more than familiar with since the man despised him. Jon noticed the shiv in the man’s hand and stood up, on full alert.

Jon had learned how to fight, an old tradition of northern lords to learns all kinds of combat, but he was no hardened criminal. It had mostly been practice, mostly been theory. Alliser was not coming after him with theory though. He lunged at Jon who’d sidestepped the larger man, dropping to a fighting stance to counter Thorne.

The intimate charged Jon again, and again, Jon dodged. His eyes looked over the warden’s desk, for anything that could be used as a weapon. His eyes focused on a letter opener and Jon reached for it, his fingers wrapping around the steel instrument.

The distraction had cost Jon though and when Alliser attacked this time, he managed to stab Jon. However, he dropped the shiv when he pulled it out, and Jon took his chance to push the older man back. Alliser saw the improvised weapon and Jon warned him, “Walk away. Just go.”

He wanted to plead, “Don’t make me do this,” but Jon stayed his tongue not wanting to show weakness. It must have shown anyways because Alliser attacked again, forcing Jon to stab the man in the neck.

The gushing blood covered them both. Jon’s hand was over his wounded stomach and he hoped the new blood wouldn’t cause any problems. He watched the other man fall to the ground, watched the life leave the other man’s eyes.

It horrified Jon. He wanted to find a safe space to throw up and cry. He wanted to run away from this awful place and this awful thing he had done.

But he remembered Olly, and turned to check on the boy. He found Olly smiling, with Alistair’s dropped shiv in his hand. Olly stepped forward before Jon could react.

The 10 year old boy stabbed him in the heart, and for an instant Jon couldn’t help but wish they’d brought back hanging. He couldn’t imagine this little fucker was ever going to get better.

Jon had woken up in a hospital a week later, Sam at his bedside. It had been an eye-opening moment for Jon and he’d immediately quit the Night’s Watch, wanting to go far away to forget that he’d nearly died, but for an old smuggler named Davos Seaworth. The inmate had found him and put pressure over his wounds as he bled out on the dirty carpet of the assistant warden’s office, saving Jon’s life. Jon hadn’t wanted family, friends, anyone. He’d moved to Braavos and not looked back until the royal visit brought his past back to him.

He wanted to forget all and he had, as best he could. He no longer had nightmares of stabbing. He no longer woke in cold sweats, terrified of icy enemies with bright unnatural blue eyes. He had healed.

But losing Daenerys, for some reason, brought all the bad memories back. He felt empty, like he’d been stabbed again. She may have not physically hurt him, but the pain felt the same. Like his heart was bleeding out. He had made another stupid mistake and he paid dearly for it.

Ghost padded over to lick his tears. Dogs always liked the taste of salty water. Jon did nothing to stop him, comforted by his friend’s soft white fur.

His phone rang, breaking him out of his daze. Ghost stepped away as Jon rose, looking for the damn phone. He found it next to the rice. He was surprised to find it was Mormont calling him, not Sam or one of the guys. He answered it, “Hello.”

“Did you get it?”

“What?” Jon forgot what Mormont was talking about for a moment.

“Don’t play coy, Snow. The princess story, the exclusive. Did you get it?”

Jon didn’t want to have this conversation, not now, not ever. “You didn’t seem like I would be able to get it.” He remembered Halfhand’s attempted bet.

“That’s true,” Jeor admitted. “I met up with my boy tonight.” Jon remembered hitting Jorah earlier in the evening. He cursed internally. How did he think he would keep this secret? Jeor continued, “He had some royal business to attend to early in the night, but he came later. He looked a little banged up, but he refused to talk about it. I brought up your little proposal to me, and it made him quite agitated. He even got up from the bar to make a phone call. It got me wondering, did Jon actually manage to get something?” He paused, Jon said nothing. “Did you, Jon?”

Jon licked his lips and answered, “No, I didn’t get it.”

“Are you sure?” Jon couldn’t see Jeor but he knew the old man’s eyes were probably narrowed at this point.

“I didn’t get the story,” Jon repeated.

“Bullshit,” Jeor said. “I know more than that. You’re holding out on me, Jon.”

Jon sighed. “I’m really not.”

“I know you are. First, you call about an exclusive on the princess. Next, you disappear along with your little friends. Then I get a rumor from my contact at the palace back home that the princess isn’t sick at all and she’s out on the town.”

Jon’s breath caught at that, but he tried to play it off, “Do you believe every rumor you hear? What kind of newspaperman are you?”

“Yeah, and a lot of other rumors about a party on a barge. I had to bail my son out of jail and he wasn’t the only Westerosi guard there, I saw Barristan the Bold too. That was a sight, the most honorable man in the Seven Kingdoms sitting behind bars. And when I looked through some of the leaked pictures, who do I see but Jon Snow?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jon lied, knowing it wouldn’t work.

Jeor sighed. “Do you know what really sold it though? I just got word about the princess’ miraculous recovery. It all adds up. Don’t think by playing hard-to-get you’ll raise the price of that story. A deal’s a deal. Where is the story?”

Jon inhaled and exhaled. “I have no story.” Jon closed his eyes. If he concentrated hard enough he could still smell Dany’s perfume, he thought. He hung up, despite Jeor’s continued yelling. Jon then turned off his phone, not wanting to deal with the outside world until at least tomorrow morning. He went to sleep in his sheets that still smelled like her.

It wasn’t morning when he was forced awake by banging on his door. Jon cursed his luck. It would be the second time a knock on his door would bring trouble. He just wanted to ignore the world and wallow in pain for a while. Was that too much to ask?

He opened the door and his friends poured in. Sam seemed to be the only one still sober. They had clearly been celebrating their successes from their time with the princess and the payday ahead of them.

Jon wished he could feel guilty for denying them, but he couldn’t feel anything else right now. The men talked among themselves, mostly Pyp and Grenn arguing over which one of them “little troublemaker” liked best. Jon would have smiled at his friends’ carefree fun, if not for everything else.

“Jon, here…” Pyp handed him some processed photos. “We found an a copy shop that was open 24 hours. Sam did good didn’t he?”

Jon’s eyes connected with Sam’s, which were studying him. Jon looked over the pictures and his heart clinched at the sight of them. She looked so happy, so beautiful. The images of her happiness broke his heart further.

The pictures were great. Sam never gave himself enough credit. Jon tossed them aside, dragging a hand through his curls. Sam asked, “What’s wrong, Jon?”

Jon ignored him, too lost in his own thoughts. How could he miss Dany already? She wasn’t even his to miss. She was a princess, way out of his league. And he’d lied to her. She would never want to see him again. He refused to cry now, but he just wanted to be alone. Only Sam seemed to notice though.

Grenn’s voice broke through, “Where is the article, Snow? You must have something written by now, workaholic you are? Let’s have a read.”

“There is no story,” Jon said.

That did get their attention. All of the men quieted, staring at Jon. “What?”

“There is no story,” Jon repeated, standing up and pacing. “I won’t do it. I can’t.”

Pyp asked, “What do you mean? Was there a better offer? That magazine you work for?”

“No,” Jon said. His eyes darted. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but…”

Edd interrupted him. “Princesses are fair game, Jon. If you’re backing out now. You must be out of your mind. Or in love.”

He was he guessed. In love, insane, they were close enough, weren’t they?

“No story?” Grenn’s arms were crossed, all of the men seemed sober now. “Why not? How could you do this? You brought this to us.”

Jon wanted to point out that he hadn’t. He’d asked Sam to bring a camera. The rest of them invited themselves along, but he didn’t think it would be welcome to point that out right now. “I can’t. I’m sorry guys. If you want to sell the pictures on your equipment, I can’t stop you.”

The men all looked down. They’d all liked the princess. None of them were eager to profit off of her. Sam walked over to Jon, patting him on the arm. Jon looked over to his friend, who was married, had also been in love. He probably did understand best what Jon was going through.

Oddly Edd broke the silence. “You are in love with her, aren’t you?”

Jon didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

“Isn’t she engaged to some horselord over here?” Pyp asked, looking confused.

Sam answered, “Not anymore. When Viserys died, it was decided that they didn’t want a foreigner for a king consort.”

“Then you’ve got a shot,” Pyp said, now grinning. “You’re a Westerosi noble.”

“Not the kind that marries princesses,” Jon said. Though the seed of that thought planted in his head. He tried to kill it before it could take root, but it was no use.

He was a noble. He’d been legitimized. Technically, he was fit for a princess.

“There’s precedent for it,” Sam said, unhelpfully. “Royals have married commoners before.”

“Not the ones that stayed royals or actually wore a crown. And she’s the last dragon. There’s no one else; she has to be queen.” The closest family member left after her was Robert Baratheon. And Jon would rather have the monarchy abolished then bow to that fat whoremonger.

Grenn went to Jon’s stove. “I need coffee.” He made them all a pot, handing out mugs. Jon barely had enough to accommodate, and he drank from a beer mug rather than a poreclien one. Every man drank coffee, lost in their thoughts. Grenn snorted, “You always were the one getting us into trouble, Snow. You were our leader, but you didn’t always lead us well.”

“He was usually the one who got us out of trouble too,” Sam pointed out.

“Damn it,” Grenn stood, pacing. He combed his fingers through his hair. “I like her too, Jon. But we can’t...we can’t just let the story of a lifetime go.”

Jon couldn’t blame them. He completely understood. “I’m sorry. I can’t tell any of you what to do. Only what I’m doing.”

Grenn shook his head. His eyes connected with Pyp’s, who shrugged. Then they shot a look at Edd. Then Sam. Jon had always thought of himself as one of the group, but he could tell now that his time apart from them had taken its toll. He had no idea what they were thinking, which way they would land.

“We have to get going,” Grenn said. “Mormont texted, they rescheduled the meeting with the princess. We’ve got to be there.” He looked at Jon. “See you around, Snow.”

“See you around,” Jon said back. He exchanged good-byes with all of them.

Sam hung back, his head turning from the group back to Jon. “Jon,” he handed Jon a photo that hadn’t been with the rest of them. “I’ve got to watch them, make sure they get back to the hotel all right, but you’ve got to know.” He waited for Jon to look at the picture.

Jon did. It was one Sam had shot when Jon wasn’t looking. It was when they’d been dancing on the boat. Daenerys was looking at him with adoration, like he was the solution to problems he didn’t even realize he’d had. Jon recognized the look. It was the one on his face when he’d look at her.

Sam’s hand was heavy on Jon’s shoulder. “You weren’t alone in your feelings. She loved you too, Jon.” Sam gave him a sad look before turning away to follow the rest of their friends.

Left alone, Jon knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep though he should. He guessed he also probably had a text from Jaqen about the interview as well. Jon knew he wasn’t ready to see her in just a few hours. He stared at the picture Sam had left with him.

Eventually Jon’s numb state subsided and he thought of their first exchange, of the poem she’d mentioned. He looked it up. He had been right from the start, it had been Shelley. He read the poem in its entirety and by the end he could feeling the tears streamed down his cheeks.

He lingered on the  last words just as the princess had. _When they love but live no more_.

But he wasn’t dead, neither was she. They did not need to be Arethusa and Alpheus, a doomed love. Thinking about the myth a moment longer, he decided they would need a different analogy. Because that love was also unrequited. He had a picture that proved it.

His mind raced now and before he could think better of it, before he could talk himself out of it, see reason, he opened his phone contacts.

Why should he settle for a day with her?

He then decided to take a chance. He called a number that had been given to him on a whim when he’d been a mere teenager who’d bonded with a lord who’d taken a liking to him after they’d spent some time traveling to the Wall together. He felt a little guilty for calling so late, but he knew the man he was calling didn’t sleep much, either by choice or necessity.

 

* * *

 

Tyrion walked into his quarters his brother following. “What was that?” Jaime asked as soon as the door shut.

“What?” Tyrion played innocent.

“She doesn’t remember? Bullshit. Where in the fuck was she?” Jaime’s face was red, but Tyrion had never feared his brother’s anger. The worst he could do to him was run him through with his sword or shoot him. Tywin Lannister angry might have given him pause, but Jaime didn’t frighten him.

“You heard her. Indisposed.”

“This isn’t a game. It’s national security. If something had happened to her…”

“Nothing did,” another lie, Tyrion knew. Tyrion poured himself a drink, offering one to his brother as well even though he knew his brother wasn’t a drinker. The untouched wine glass stayed on the table.

“You can’t protect her from this, Tyrion. Your cleverness cannot save her from herself.”

Tyrion thought of Daenerys during the car ride back to the embassy. Her face had been stone and free of any expression, but Tyrion had understood the need to hide heartbreak, give the appearance of strength at one’s most vulnerable. He took a long drink of wine. “She’s young. It was a moment of weakness, nothing to worry about.”

Jaime stood, still angry. “A moment of weakness? She was lost. You lost her. Do you not see how big of deal this is? You cannot just brush it under the rug.”

“Did you come all this way to lecture me? You could have done this on the phone.” Jaime swallowed his next words sourly. Tyrion swallowed another sip of wine. “If you’re so worried about security, see to it. I put you in charge. Our day begins in four short hours, so I suggest you get going.”

Jaime marched out of the room, banging the door behind him. Tyrion hated fighting with his brother, but he was operating on little sleep and much worry. He finished his drink and poured another, his mind thinking through how he’d combat the rumors he was sure were already circulating.

A soft knock at the door broke his attention. Tyrion didn’t want to speak anymore with Jaime, but he doubted his brother would have softly knocked so he called out, “Come in.”

It was Missandei. He offered her a glass of wine, which she took gratefully. She hadn’t been much of a drinker prior to meeting him, but Tyrion was converting her. They often shared a glass of wine after a long day, sometimes with the princess and sometimes without her.

She took a sip before asking, “Where was she?”

Tyrion sighed, unlike Jaime, he had no desire to lie to Daenerys’ closest friend and advisor. “Why do you ask?”

“She looked so happy in those pictures. She’s heartbroken now.”

Tyrion knew it was true. He’d seen the moment her majesty’s heart broke back at Jon Snow’s apartment. She would wear the mask of indifference well, he knew, but he also knew how much pain she would be in beneath it. He took another sip. “It doesn’t matter,” he said.

Missandei nodded sadly. She took another sip. “I suppose it doesn’t. She’s back now.”

Tyrion knew that Missandei thought the princess overworked, thought she needed more breaks, a chance to be the young woman she was rather than the princess she must be. But Tyrion had always pointed out that life wasn’t fair and duty had to come first for princesses, no matter what.

Still he felt something like guilt for bringing the princess back. He knew it was the right thing to do. He knew the princess knew it was the right thing, but her words echoed back at him. “Were I not completely aware of my duty to my family and my country, I would not have returned here tonight, or indeed, ever again.”

Missandei finished her drink and bid him a good night before retiring to her own room. Tyrion knew he should be going to bed as well. He had a long day ahead of him, just like everyone else, but he wanted one more drink.

Tyrion’s phone rang. He set down his night cap to check the caller id.

He wished he was surprised by who was calling. He answered, “Hello?”


	7. The Princess and the Bastard

****Meeting the press was never something Daenerys particularly enjoyed, but considering it would be followed up by another reception for the wealthy elite of Braavos afterwards, she wanted to stretch it out for as long as possible.

She was exhausted again, as if she had really been ill the day before instead of happy and carefree. Cramming in two days worth of meetings and receptions into one day had left her even more tired than usual. The muscles on her face were beginning to strain, despite the fact that she could barely force herself to smile today.

Daenerys walked into the full room once Tyrion announced her. She put on her trained happy face and walked out. Her eyes connected with several of the pairs of journalists, giving that personal touch she had been taught to do on these public occasions.

She faltered a bit when she found Jon’s friends her breath catching. She wasn’t sure if it was because she was terrified that she would see Jon or scared that she wouldn’t. But she refused to be anything less than brave, and her eyes continued to scan the crowd.

He wasn’t here. She let go of a breath she wasn’t away she’d been holding, but also felt a deep disappointment in her gut. She had hoped to see him one last time.

Tyrion said, “Your royal highness, ladies and gentleman of the press.” She sat down, her eyes drifting back to the men she’d spent the last day with.

She had seen no articles yet published about her day off, but as she looked at the men Jon called friends, the men she now knew were members of the Night’s Watch, Westeros’ most serious journalist venue, she wondered what they might say. She tried to think of the scandals she might have caused in her holiday: the cigarette, the brawling, and most damning of all, the sex.

They could ruin her. These four men and their missing friend. She knew that, but she jutted her chin out once she folded her hands demurely as though she had nothing to hide, playing her part of royal princess as well as she ever had.

Tyrion continued, “Ladies and gentlemen, Her Royal Highness will now answer your questions.”

Deep inhale. Deep exhale. Where was Jon? Daenerys couldn’t help but wonder.

A woman of the press, who appeared to be Braavosi, said, “I believe at the outset, your highness, that I should express the pleasure of all of us at your recovery from the recent illness.”

Daenerys’ eyes shot to the Night’s Watch. Grenn and Pyp looked down with small grins. Edd’s face gave nothing away. Sam’s eyes darted as his cheeks reddened. She also noticed an older man’s eyes glare at her attention. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

Though she would have to be more careful. She adjusted to face the woman who’d addressed her more fully. She said, “Thank you.”

A voice from the third row, she couldn’t see the face, asked, “Does Your Highness believe that more trade between Westeros and Essos is the key to solving our countries’ economic problems?”

She stared ahead, answering robotically, “I believe in any measures that would bring more cooperation between our states and help our people prosper.”

A man asked, “And what, in the opinion of Your Highness, is the outlook for friendship between our nations?”

Daenerys knew part of the reason for her journey here was to vet potential husbands, to build alliances. She couldn’t say that of course, so she said, “I have every faith in it…” she looked to the men of the Night’s watch, “...as I have faith in relations between people.”

None of them were smiling now, they all looked thoughtful. Sam’s eyes met hers. He seemed to be looking for something in her depths. She hoped whatever it was he searched for, he found it.

Where was Jon?

She saw Missandei and Tyrion exchange a look at the second part of what she said. Her friends always got nervous when she went off script.

Sam spoke up now, surprising her a bit, “May I say, speaking for my own press service, we believe that Your Highness’s faith will not be unjustified.”

Daenerys’ face slipped out of her control for a moment as she wondered what he meant by that. What had Jon told him? Told them? Or was he just speaking for himself?

Before she could look too deeply into his words, another question rung out, “Which of the cities visited did Your Highness enjoy the most?”

Daenerys knew the correct answer to that, the answer she’d given at every stop of this tour and would continue to give. She began, “Each in its own way---” Her voice caught as an image of Jon smiling at her as they walked beside the canals filled her mind. No, not now. She tried again, “Each in its own was...unforgettable. It would be difficult to...” Her memory didn’t let go so easily. She now saw Jon talking Jorah, saw him laughing at her in the wolf’s head, felt his hand on her hip in the police station, felt his lips over hers as he kissed her beside the water where the boat they dance on had been docked.

She saw his bright red door and smelled the lemon tree of his courtyard.

Daenerys’ eyes dropped down, her royal mask slipping again. When her eyes lifted again, she felt a real smile on her face. “Braavos. By all means, Braavos.”

She could feel the glare Tyrion gave her as the journalists all clamored at the pronouncement. Only Sam, Grenn, Pyp and Edd didn’t look surprised. She saw the four men exchange a look as though they’d come to a conclusion about something. She wished she could speak with them plainly once more. She wished she could tease Pyp for looking so professional in his black suit. She wished she could flirt with Grenn and exchange exasperated looks with Edd. She wished she could ask Sam if Gilly had seen him in his suit before, if she thought him handsome in it if she had.

She wished that today could be yesterday again. But yesterday was gone, never to be repeated.

Where was Jon?

She continued, surprised at how well she kept the emotion from her voice, “I will cherish my visit here in memory as long as I live.”

Another voice called out, “Despite your indisposition, Your Highness?”

Daenerys could really feel Tyrion’s glare now. She answered, “Despite that.”

Tyrion cut her off from any more bad answers, announcing, “Photographs may now be taken.”

Members stepped forward, and Daenerys posed for them all. She was surprised to see Sam with the lighter camera, her eyes brightened at the sight. She should be mad at them she knew, but how mad could she be? They had given her the best day of her life. So what if the price was the potential for some negative press.

Missandei said, “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you very much.”

Tyrion moved to escort her out, but Daenerys stepped forward instead. “I would now like to meet some of the ladies and gentlemen of the press.”

Tyrion gave her a sour look, but he assented, glancing back at his brother who looked just as annoyed with her. The kingsguard stepped up, to protect her if needed, as she walked down to the ropes keeping the men and women back.

She paused once more, her eyes again searching for Jon in the crowd, but he was nowhere to be found. She felt a wave of disappointment, but she bit it back, walking forward with her head high.

The men and women told her their names and who they worked for. She greeted them politely, exchanging handshakes. She saw the flashes of additional photos being taken. It was her life, to appear before cameras.

When she got to the Night’s Watch the first man was the older one who’d glared at her earlier. He said gruffly, “Jeor Mormont, Night’s Watch.”

“Ser Jorah’s father,” she guessed with a smile. He nodded, not returning the smile, his eyes darting to his son. Daenerys knew there was some bad blood there, but she was proud of Jorah, he was a good friend and bodyguard.

She moved to Pyp, who rather than saying his name and shaking her hand, asked for a selfie.

Daenerys normally wouldn’t, but she agreed with a smile.

She gathered together with the four men she’d spent the previous day with, smiling for them as Grenn took the picture since he had the longest arms. He then turned the camera to show her the picture.

But instead he showed her that he’d selected all of the photos from the day before, and he clicked delete. Her eyes rushed up to meet his, to meet all of the men’s. They were smiling softly at her.

She swallowed before saying, “That was a terrible picture. Once more.”

They took another, her smile big and genuine as she heard Pyp whisper in her ear, “Little Troublemaker.”

She laughed as the photo snapped. When they turned to show her, she pushed it back, calling it a keepsake and telling them to post it as soon as they were able. “Your instagram followers will thank me.”

Daenerys exchanged names properly with each man now. Pypar. Grenn. Edd Tollett. And finally, Samwell Tarly. Sam handed her some “commemorative” photos for her trip to Braavos, she peeked inside to see herself crushing a guitar over poor Jorah’s head.

She recognized the name now, Tarly. She’d met him that first night here. He’d been one of the lords who stepped on her toes while they dance. She apologized for not remembering him straight away.

The big man blushed a bit. “It’s okay, I understand, your majesty. It’s hard to remember a common name like Sam or Jon.”

“Common names, maybe, but not common men. I should remember them. I will remember them. Always.” She looked over the crowd again, still not seeing him. Where was he?

She moved to the next one. When she finished, she turned to search for Jon once more, desperate to see him before she left. She had hoped for one more good-bye, but she saw Tyrion and the rest of them waiting, so she followed. Looking at the men of the Night’s Watch once last time, she said, “Thank you.”

They gave little bows in response.

Her next meeting was with the important men and women of Braavos. Another feast and night of dancing to send her off with an impressive farewell, as she would board a plane to take her to the next location on the tour after the celebration ended. She would be seated next to Illyrio. It wasn’t something she was looking forward to, as the man took too many liberties. He seemed certain he was her future husband rather than a name on a list.

She wondered what Varys had told him to give him this belief and why the Spider would want his friend to act like this with her. Varys was too clever not to know that this would drive her away from his friend rather than endear her to him. What was his plan?

Daenerys tried to wipe such thoughts from her mind, so that she could be a charming dinner guest, but it was a struggle. It was almost worse now. She knew what it was like to get out to live her own life. This entire day, she kept having to force herself not to cry.

Tyrion just told everyone she was still feeling a bit under the weather. She hoped the lie worked because she couldn’t quite put on her happy face. Still, she politely asked questions and answered any asked to her with well-practiced responses.

After what felt like hours, a signal sounded the end of the meal. She followed Tyrion back to the throne that had been setup for her. She moved to sit, but Tyrion leaned in. “Stay standing, your majesty. You’ll have to greet guests.”

“I meet these people two nights ago,” she pointed out.

“Not everyone was able to make it then. There were also some additions to the guest list this time, mostly people you were supposed to met yesterday.” Tyrion must have seen her frustration, as he added, “Don’t look so put out. You wouldn’t want anyone to think you were not having the time of your life.”

Daenerys was ready to leave. She had enjoyed her time in Braavos more than anything, but she was ready to move on. It would be easier to put the events behind her once she put the city behind her. But she could say none of that, could show none of it. She stood, smiling and greeting men and women of Braavos she hadn’t met. She exchanged pleasantries, as the tables were cleared for another night of dancing. Daenerys was fond of dancing, but she had no desire to do so tonight. She just wanted to go.

But she kept that from her face.

When speaking to one of the bankers from the Iron Bank of Braavos, a trick of her eyes made Daenerys believed she saw Jon in the crowd. Her ached at her imagings. But when she glanced down at Tyrion, she noticed he was focused on the same spot, the same man.

The banker moved away. Luckily, there was no line this night, giving her some reprieve, but now she could watch her imagination continue to cruely mock her.

The phantom that resembled Jon, in Westerosi finery no less, made his way towards her.  It was a cruel joke and Daenerys still wasn’t convinced that this wasn’t some lucid daydream. But then Jon stopped a few feet away from her and gave her a respectful and obvious well-practiced bow. When had he ever had to practice such a thing?

Tyrion whispered in her ear, “Jon Stark, firstborn son of the Lord of Winterfell.”

“What?” she said louder than was appropriate. Many of the guests stared at her with mild annoyance and the reporter and photographers readied themselves for a potential scandal, practically salivating at the prospect.

But even with all these eyes on her, Daenerys only noticed one pair. Grey ones that were far too amused. Jon smirked and said, “As I tried to tell you, I’m Lord Eddard Stark’s eldest son.”

Daenerys searched her memory for the Stark family tree. Eddard Stark’s first born’s name was Robb. A constant presence on those potential marriage candidate lists, she’d met him a few times and found him to be fine. He was fine. He was not the man before her though. But then she also remembered the scandal of a bastard from before Ned Stark’s marriage. One her father had legitimized a couple years ago. “You said you were Jon Snow, not Stark.”

“It’s the name I was born with, what everyone calls me. I’m as much Jon Snow as you are Dany Stormborn.”

Daenerys blushed, “If you’re a lord’s son, how I have I never met you before?”

“Princesses don’t meet bastards, your grace.”

“But you aren’t a bastard any more. My father legitimized you.”

“No, I’m not a bastard anymore,” Jon agreed. “Though Robb is still the heir. He’s getting Winterfell and the titles. Like many a noble bastard before me, I am forced to go out into the world and make my own fortune.”

Daenerys’ eyebrow raised, “So you really are just a poor journalist/photographer?”

“I wouldn’t say poor,” Jon took a step closer. “A man in possession of a family trust with millions in it can’t call himself poor with a straight face. But no land, alas.”

Daenerys laughed, getting more than a few stares. Then she got more than stares as she leapt into Jon’s arms. She could hear the clicks of the cameras, saw the flashes out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t care. She only cared about the man in her arms. He was laughing too, his eyes trained on her. He was so pretty.

They kissed and he twirled her around. She laughed, feeling so free. Her head went back as her hands clutched his shoulders. As he put her down, their foreheads touched. His eyes were looking into hers. It was nice. So nice.

“Dance with me,” she ordered despite the fact it wasn’t quite setup yet. She stepped back, but refused to leave his embrace.

“As you wish, your grace,” Jon responded with a smile. He guided her to the dance floor. Daenerys knew they were being watched, knew the news was probably already spreading, knew this was going to be PR disaster. She just couldn’t bring herself to care.

Jon guided her into a simple dance and then music started abruptly, as though the musicians had been forced to start up before they were ready. Daenerys hands wandered from the usual hand and shoulder. Jon didn’t seem to mind as she roamed up his arms.

Her hands moved over the lapels of his jacket. “This wasn’t in your wardrobe yesterday.” She eyed the direwolf emblem of the Starks that served as a tie pin.

“It was in a trunk pushed to the back. I hate wearing suits, and I’m still not quite comfortable wearing anything that declares me a Stark since I didn’t for so long.”

Daenerys smiled. Just minutes ago, she’d been desperate to leave, now she wanted to stay in Braavos forever.

 

* * *

 

Jon woke up feeling totally refreshed despite the fact he’d gotten very little sleep the night before. The princess had decided to extend her stay in Braavos for an additional night. They had danced together, but his favorite part had been after, when they retired to her private rooms (with Missandei as a chaperone) to talk.

They had spent most of the night talking, getting to know each other without secrets and lies. He had told her about growing up in Winterfell. She had told him stories of her brothers. They had wound up staying up until three a.m. when they finally noticed Missandei was falling asleep, so Jon went home.

Jon woke up with a huge grin, thinking about their previous conversations.

She had asked, “Wait, if you didn’t know who I was right away, why were you so nice to me when I first woke up and that night before?”

Jon paused, not sure how truthful he should be with her. Before he realized it was a little late to pretend he wasn’t head over heels for her now, “One, I’m not that much of a jerk. Two, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Dany. I admit I’m awful at it, but I was trying to…” Jon wasn’t even sure what to call it. “Well, if I had a shot with you, I didn’t want to blow it.”

Daenerys laughed. She had changed out of her stiff dress, but she was still completely covered and in her own clothes. Jon didn’t look she looked as comfortable or as good as she had in his sweats. “I think it’s safe to say you didn’t blow it.” Her laughter stopped. “Came close though.”

“Aye,” Jon agreed.

She looked down at her hands for a bit before asking, “Snow.” Jon tensed. She immediately added. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I don’t really know the full story.”

Jon usually hated telling anyone this tale, but for some reason, telling Dany didn’t bother him so much. “I doubt I have the full tale, but my father told me everything he could. He’d loved Catelyn despite her being his brother’s betrothed. He’d tried to get over her with Ashara Dayne, but when Catelyn found out that Brandon was cheating on her, she ran to her good friend Ned’s arms. He’d confessed his feelings, which it turned out she returned. They got together immediately. It had been a whirlwind romance and they had gotten married after only a month of dating.”

Jon took a deep breath before continuing, “Catelyn was already pregnant when Ashara called to tell dad she was pregnant as well. It was a huge mess and scandal. My mother had died in childbirth, so I couldn’t even be raised discretely away from Winterfell.”

He could feel Daenerys’ bright eyes on him, and he leaned into her touch as her hand caressed his face. They broke apart at Missandei’s throat clearing. Jon finished his sad tale, “It’s what my father told me. And while he’s an honest man, I doubt he’d call me a mistake to my face. He wanted to make sure I felt loved while also making sure I didn’t resent his wife, Catelyn. Which I did anyway because you know, my parents would have been perfect for each other if she hadn’t gotten in the way. She resented me right back for nearly destroying her marriage before it had even really started. She should have known better as the grown-up, but it was easier to hate me than the husband she loved. Though as an adult, I can see it was complicated. Dad loved Catelyn and he liked Ashara, might have even loved her too. It was a mess with no easy solution.”

“How’s your relationship with your stepmother now?”

“It’s better.” Jon said with a sigh. “She always makes a point to invite me to family things. We’re both trying and I don’t know that we’ll ever like each other, but we just might love each other. It helped when she found out I beat up a guy hassling Sansa, her favorite.”

She smiled at him, before looking out the window. Her face fell a little and she gave him one more out. “Are you sure you want to do this, Jon? Really sure? I can still play it off as confusion from my illness. You don’t have to give up everything.”

“I’m sure, Dany.” He took her hand. “You’re worth it.”

“No pressure.” She blinked and her voice softened, “I hope I deserve this.”

“There is no pressure, Dany. If anything, I don’t deserve you, after what I did to deceive you. Besides, we’re not getting married, we’re dating.” Though Jon realized he would marry her if that’s what it took. The thought scared him. How had she done this? Turned his world upside down in a manner of days? Just a week ago, his biggest worry was how he was going to make rent without asking his father for a loan.

Then Daenerys was in his arms, kissing him and making him forget everything that wasn’t her lips.

Missandei cleared her throat again, louder this time, smiling at her princess. Jon blushed, but Daenerys just laughed. Jon knew he wouldn't be spending the night with her, probably wouldn't get the chance to do that again until after the wedding. He didn't like it, but she was worth it.

Plus, Pyp was right, she was a little troublemaker; she might surprise him.

Jon smiled at the memory, rising up to shower and then pack as much as he could. He turned on the taps and stepped in under the water. As he lathered up his hair, he remembered the phone call he’d had after the Night’s Watch had left the night before.

Tyrion had warned him on their phone call, “Are you sure about this? It will change your life. Privacy will be a thing of the past. Everything will be public policy and up for discussion, from what brand of underwear you wear to what you name your children.”

It did give Jon pause. He was a private person by nature and really had no desire for the spotlight or a royal life. Even watching Robb and his father, who were only northern nobles, made him glad to be free of the responsibilities of such a life. But really, he only had one answer when it came to even the slightest chance of being with Dany, “Yes, I’m sure.”

Tyrion still hesitated. “You spent day with her, Jon.”

“It was a hell of a day, Tyrion,” Jon replied with a chuckle.

He chuckled again now, as he finished, wrapping a towel around his waist. He stepped out of the shower and then the bathroom. He let Ghost out to do his business and then walked over to begin making coffee.

Jon picked up his phone. He had several notifications from news apps as well as some messages. He checked the news apps first as he waited for his coffee to brew.

The headlines were all about the princess and her bastard. The Night’s Watch men weren’t even aware Jon could look so happy or smile so much. They had been sure to text him the night before. Of what he read of the articles, most were speculation and rumor, with little facts as they were waiting for an official royal statement.

Jon wondered what Tyrion had cooked up for that.

He saw the coffee had finished and poured himself a mug. Then he took a deep breath in and clicked on the icon to open his text messages. The news had traveled to Westeros, so he now had a half dozen text messages.

 

Ned: _We need to talk._

Benjen: _When I told you to find a nice girl to settle down with and to aim high, I wasn’t expecting just how high your aim could reach. I just didn’t want you to marry the first Braavos girl who smiled at you._

Robb: _What the fuck Jon?! You’re dating the crown princess and don’t even tell me. I have to hear about it from Theon? Call me. Now!_

Theon: _So does the carpet match the drapes? I’ve always wondered._

Sansa: _OMG! What is Daenerys like? How could you not tell us? Is she as pretty as her pictures? What about her hair, what does she use in it? Who does her dresses? I have so many questions. Is she nice? Have you gotten to meet any other famous people? Call me as soon as you get this._

Arya: _Does this mean you’re coming home?_

 

Arya’s text was the only one he answered.

_Looks like I am._

Her response was simple and immediate.

_:)_

 

* * *

 

“I didn’t legitimize that bastard so he could fuck my daughter!”

King Aerys’ fury was the stuff of legends. Luckily, the princess didn’t shrink from it. Daenerys wanted to deny it but avoided flat out lying. She stayed calm, as a yelling match would not help in this. “Father, this isn’t the disaster you think it is. He’s from a noble family in the North.”

“You were supposed to marry someone from Essos. That’s why you’re over there in the first place.” Drogo was no longer available, but it had been decided that an Essos husband would be better for her since it wouldn’t elevate any Westerosi noble family over another. Illyrio, Varys’ friend, was being pushed for hard.

Daenerys played dumb. “Was it? Does that mean I can come home? Since I found a husband.”

Her father was silent for a moment. “You’re going to marry him?”

“I don’t know, but I really like him. Give him a chance.”

The king hung up. Daenerys guessed that went about as well as could be expected. She knew it was far from over. He would probably continue this argument with her over the phone for the rest of the trip and then when she got home. Her father was a stubborn man.

But she was just as stubborn. He would not win this one.

Tyrion entered cautiously. “How’d it go?”

She gave him a small smile and told him, “Slightly better than you thought it would. There were no threats of gelding him or burning him alive.”

“Trust me, if the king ever finds out you spent two nights, unsupervised, in Jon Snow’s apartment, it’ll come up.”

“Nothing happened.”

Tyrion’s eyebrow rose. “Oh, so if I send someone over to his place right now there won’t be a used condom in the wastebasket?” Then Tyrion frowned. “Actually, there better be a condom because if you risked a baby or an STD…”

Daenerys interrupted him, “Nothing happened.”

“So when he answered the door wearing almost nothing, you were…”

“We were discussing poetry.”

“Poetry?” Tyrion’s tone was thick with disbelief.

“Yes, Shelley and Keats.” He still didn’t look like he believed her. Daenerys sighed, “Tyrion, if it worries you so much, let’s just make sure the king doesn’t find out.”

“Oh, he’s not going to find out. No one is. I’m sure there will be conspiracy, but I’ve already come up with the official story.”

Tyrion pulled out some pages and Daenerys had to repress the sigh. She felt like more like an actress than a princess sometimes. “Is it anything like the truth?”

“Oh, no, we’re going to lie to everyone. This relationship has been going on for months. Mostly texting and instant messaging, very romantic and chaste. All above board. He was helping take care of you yesterday, and in your still lingering delerium of illness you forgot yourself in public when you saw him. You most certainly did not fall in love with him in a day, away from all eyes. That did not happen. I have scripts for you both to memorize. It will be the story you tell the press, the king, his family, everyone.”

“Of course you do.” She took the pages he handed to her. The official story of her and Jon. “What do I say about the pictures of us on the boat?”

“No comment. You have no idea, but it wasn’t you or him. You were in your sick bed. He was by your side, reading to you.”

“That’s very sweet of him.”

“He’s a very sweet man. It’s sweet relationship. Sweet, innocent and chaste.”

He said chaste twice. Daenerys got it. “A relationship no one could object to.”

“Exactly. Like a fairy tale, but without all the stuff that makes fairy tales interesting, like sex, violence or questionable morals.”

“How very wholesome.” She read what he’d written. The story he’d concocted wasn’t too ridiculous, probably more realistic than the truth. They’d met at an event when she’d toured the North about a year ago and exchanged information since she was a fan of his work. They had started as friends, but it had grown slowly into more. The confession and shift of their relationship had taken place when Jon had left the Night’s Watch (a near death experience did that to a man). They had always planned to discreetly meet up on this tour, but then she’d tragically gotten sick. Though Jon had stayed by her side, regardless.

Satisfied, Daenerys said, “You’re dismissed, Tyrion.”

He nodded and left. Daenerys put the official story aside. She’d memorize it later, until she could recite it as well as the truth. She guessed that Tyrion would be sending the same story for Jon to memorize as well, sooner rather than later.

She felt a stab of insecurity again, was it really fair to drag Jon into this life of hers? He had freely chosen to put himself on this path, but she still felt guilty for bringing him into a public life she doubted would suit him. She doubted it suited anyone really. Her life was not an easy one, and the life of her husband wouldn’t be either. She wouldn’t wish such burdens on her worst enemy, let alone on a man she could love.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. She hid the script Tyrion had given her, just in case before she said, “You may enter.”

She was surprised to find her great-uncle carefully walking towards her. He was smiling, and his joy was contagious. Daenerys let him give her arm a comforting squeeze.

“Are we leaving soon?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered. “As soon as…” Daenerys bit her lip. She didn’t know how much Aemon knew about Jon. They were waiting for him to settle what matters he had to and accompany them though.

Aemon clearly knew quite a bit, as he finished for her, “As soon as your young man is able to join us?” Daenerys blushed, but Aemon comforted her quickly. “I’m proud of you, Daenerys. True love is a rare and precious thing, my little dragon.”

“It’s a little early to call it true love. It might end up being a fling that peters out in a couple of months.”

“A responsible young woman like you wouldn’t risk it all on a fling. I watched your sense of duty die the moment you flung yourself into his arms.”

Daenerys blushed. It had been an overreaction to seeing him. Too public, too quick. “You don’t think I’m just being a silly girl?”

“You aren’t a silly girl. You are a young woman who knows her heart.” He let go of her. “Though I would like to properly meet this boy and judge him for myself.”

“Aemon…”

“I will not be dissuaded on this. I trust your judgement, but I want to make sure he knows what he’s getting into and is prepared to meet the challenge. I will not have your heart broken by some northern fool.”

Daenerys smiled, but she wondered again if Jon truly understood what he was getting into.

 

* * *

 

Final preparations made, Jon stood next to Daenerys as they prepared to make their exit from the embassy in front of the crowd waiting for them. Jon could hear the mass of people cheering for the princess. It frightened him a bit. Was it always like this?

Daenery took Jon’s hand, as men moved to open the doors. “You ready to face this? It’s going to be a lot.”

“I know.” He didn’t say it, but he meant, you’re worth it. “We’ll face this together.”

“Together,” she agreed, giving his hand a squeeze.

Jon inhaled. Together.

The doors opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I love Roman Holiday and its ending. I changed it not just because I wanted a little happiness for my GOT OTP, but also because I switched this story to modern times. And while it’s certainly still a thing that royals marry within a certain class of people, it’s less of a thing now than it was when the movie came out. Also Jon, in this story, isn’t a random journalist from a foreign country, he’s a legitimized son of a lord from her country. I hope you all enjoyed and thank you for your comments!


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